


Music of the Night

by OneThousandAngels



Series: Phantom of the Opera [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Biting, Cock & Ball Torture, Dark, Domestic Violence, Forced Crossdressing, Humiliation, Kinky, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Mild Gore, Obsession, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sad, Sadism, Smut, Strangulation, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandAngels/pseuds/OneThousandAngels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no one at Mount Massive Theater that does not fear the mysterious Phantom that lives within its walls and Waylon Park, more dear to the Phantom than anything in the world, is no exception. Despite his terror, Waylon's devotion to Eddie Gluskin never wavers. Not after Miles' accident. Not after a slew of violent murders. But their deep bond may not be strong enough to withstand the tragedies that result from their bizarre and obsessive relationship. No one can escape the intoxicating madness that surrounds the Phantom of the Opera.</p><p>You do not have to know anything about the original Phantom of the Opera or Love Never Dies to read, but it will enhance the experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Opera Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I decided to change the ages of these characters, but I hope you will imagine them as whatever age makes you comfortable. All you need to know is that Waylon is the youngest, then Miles, then Eddie. I'm currently going through the chapters and making changes to things referencing their ages. If you notice an error or something that doesn't make sense, please let me know! I can't catch everything. Thanks!

As much as he'd tried, perhaps there were some things that just could never be understood…things that infected the heart, blossomed into vibrant agony, and then faded into nothing but a painful memory, leaving no more understanding than when it all began. He had long since stopped trying to process the horrors he had witnessed when he was young, but even so they continued to haunt him. The fire. The murders. The insanity that had enveloped every one of them for a time. Everyday he felt a gaping absence at his side and the weight of the emptiness in his chest that had taken the place of what he’d lost, but as he sat in his wheelchair at the auction now, held in the building that had been constructed in the wake of the fire that decimated Mount Massive Theater, he felt predominantly not sorrow, but helplessness. Would he still be here if he’d done things differently? Would both of them? He could do nothing but accept the world their misguided deeds had created. 

His eyes, once bright with vivacity and mischief, but now dull with age and hard-earned wisdom, focused their attention on the sweeping, majestic curtains that encased the shadow addled stage. They maintained their regal appearance despite gathering years of dust. Miles recalled that they weren’t quite as extraordinary as the originals had been, but there had been no chance of saving them from the flames. The small group of people that had gathered took their places before the stage, dwarfed by its overwhelming presence, as the auctioneer called off the items up for bid, ones that had somehow been saved from the fire. All those in attendance were old enough to recall the incidents that had taken place here, aware of the significance of the items being sold, except, ironically, the auctioneer. The rest of them had their memories, their money, and these mementos, and that was all. 

After purchasing the music box with a feeble gesture of his withered hand, his gaze fell upon the woman opposite him. Her dark hair had now faded completely into a beautiful silver. Of all of them, she looked the least like a corpse. She nodded to him respectfully, having lost the music box to Miles’ bid. She understood. They had both lost him, but his burden was greater.

Sensing the morbid atmosphere of the gathered patrons, the auctioneer cleared his voice and presented the next item to them with as much charm and bravado as he could muster (not much really, given the circumstances), but the prospect of the money he could garner from the chandelier alone drove him onward. He gave his mysterious introduction of the priceless crystal ornament and for that instant they were all enraptured as if under a spell, or more accurately a curse. He gestured for his men to unveil the spectacle. 

And it was like being brought back in time. They had not even the wherewithal to gasp or to speak and in their minds they heard the powerful pipes of an organ screaming in ecstasy and agony.

Even now somehow the Phantom had worked his tricks once again. 

 

 

 

 

It was the day before the grand premiere of their first show of the season, and god, Waylon had never seen such a flurry of action in the Mount Massive Theater since he’d first arrived nearly a year ago: actors and actresses tripping over each other in a tornado of movement, costumes and props being altered and perfected on every free space of the stage, and a myriad of different melodies floating in from every angle as they fought for his attention. Over the last several seasons their productions had become increasingly popular. Their upward movement from a small time haunt for the locals to a must-see attraction was just drastic enough to cause both awe and suspicion. As it were, Waylon’s own special effects and technological support for the theater was second to none and although it wasn't a role that got a lot of recognition he liked to think the programs he developed to keep things running smoothly had brought a competitive edge to what they were able to offer. He was proud and passionate about his work, but he didn't give himself too much credit. He was only in his twenties after all, and yeah, he’d had a good education thanks to scholarships that pitied orphans, but really he was just a stagehand, a 'techie', and a small cog in the works that made their shows special. He was just thankful to be a part of it. 

He hurried around backstage running from one end of the building to the next, panting and already feeling a bit of a stitch developing in his side. _‘Phew…’_ he thought, feeling flustered and a bit cranky, _‘I never expected this job to be so…physical!’_ His part of the work was mostly done, all the technology set up to work smoothly already, but there were always a few kinks to be worked out here and there. He’d spent much of the day climbing around in the rafters, hanging upside like a monkey tweaking the lights, and crawling into tiny spaces nobody else could reach. 

But, right now...he was mostly the errand boy for the actors. He’d just gotten a page on his headset from his boss Trager to get over to Miles’ room immediately. It sounded urgent…it probably wasn’t, since Miles was notoriously a diva beyond compare, but he was the male lead, so nothing to be done about that. Besides, the longer he kept Miles waiting the more obnoxious he was likely to be when he got there. 

He stopped outside the diva’s door and knocked hesitantly as he tried to catch his breath. 

“M…Miles?” he panted and waited to be invited in. 

“Waylon, great, get in here!”

He sighed exaggeratedly, but obeyed, closing the door behind him for privacy in case he was having a costume malfunction or something. “No need to yell, geez..." He was always so dramatic. Guess he was in the right business. "What is it?” He looked at Miles, a little flushed from the jog over. 

He turned and looked at Waylon with a playful and dangerously charming grin. “Just the pretty face I wanted to see…” He was lounging on his personal couch lazily, feet up on the arm rest, leaving just enough space for Waylon beside him. He patted the spot expectantly. “Take a seat, I got a question for you.” He was looking over the script thoughtfully. Maybe it _was_ important; had Waylon forgotten something?

He sat down quickly, all business. He’d caught his breath now and was frankly glad for a chance to sit down. He looked at the script over Miles’ shoulder worriedly, leaning in close. 

“What is it? Not scene seven, right? I set up the spotlight switch for that this morning, and I know the gel was a little off yesterday, b-…” Miles put his finger on Waylon’s lips to silence him. Waylon blinked slowly and was silent. 

“No, no, no.” He chucked the script overboard onto the wood floor haphazardly then turned his attention to Waylon. His devilish charisma dialed up to ten, he put his arm around Waylon smiling, making the unobtrusive boy blush a bit. They’d steadily become friends in the few months since Miles had arrived, but Miles stunning good looks always took Waylon off guard. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he had a little, tiny bit of a crush on him and his effortless charm. 

“How’s it going? You look a little frazzled.”

Waylon rolled his eyes but smiled a little. In the few months that he’d known Miles, he had been the reason he was frazzled more than anything or anyone else. “Well duh, I’m runnin’ a show here, princess.” 

“Silence, plebe. This is my show.” Waylon laughed. 

Miles took the hand resting on Waylon’s shoulder and ran his fingers up over his neck to play with his sandy, blonde hair absentmindedly, giving Waylon shivers all up and down his body. He bit his lip. It just felt too good having his fingertips teasing the fluffy hair at the back of his neck. Damn him. They hadn’t known each other long enough that he should know what buttons to press to get him to do what he wanted, but Miles wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He saw something he wanted, so he took it. Now he wanted Waylon. 

His interest in him had begun about a month ago once he started to relax. He had the script memorized down to the comma and he was sick of rehearsing already. He was a professional! There was no need to go through every scene over and over again, in his opinion. It was at that time that his eye began to wander, searching for something to entertain himself with. 

\---

_Miles stepped off the stage and plopped on the couch just out of sight of the curtains. His costume would be the same for the next scene, so he had a chance to relax if only for a few minutes. He watched the other actors and the stagehands running around, chatting quietly here and there, a few actresses waiting just out of sight for their scene, baited breath as they went over their lines in their head. It was dark in this part of the stage, more of road between onstage and the back room than anything, but he didn’t have enough time to really kick back just yet._

_Boring._

_His eye caught on movement near the ceiling, getting his full attention. What in the world? …oh. One of the crew members up in the rafters, but it was really more like he was a spider or a monkey than anything else. That little guy, Waylon. He was an orphan and a prodigy, general knowledge among the cast and crew by now. He lived in part of the building the theater was located in, part of his deal for being some kind of technological genius or something. Again he tried to remember where he knew him from. Maybe they'd known each other as kids?_

_He sighed quietly and leaned on the arm of the couch as he watched him work, hanging upside down by his knees from a bar like a kid at a playground, hands busy with some wires and nobs. Shouldn’t he be wearing safety gear, a harness or something?_

_…he was kind cute…a little on a short and nerdy side, but definitely a cutie. He never really paid him any mind until now since he pretty much just stayed out of the way. Miles wasn’t crazy famous or something, but he got enough attention that he never really needed to look for company when he wanted it. He liked to make it a mind to know everything about everyone though._

_As Waylon climbed down, Miles called him over._

_“Psst. Waylon.” He stopped and looked at Miles, came over to him, and smiled a little._

_“Hey. Need something?” He whispered so they wouldn’t bother anyone on stage._

_“Nah…dude, wear a harness or something, we wouldn’t want to lose you, right?”_

_He looked taken aback, but not offended by the advice. Some people might see it as getting picked on or scolded, but it was nice to think that someone was looking out for him or cared what happened to him. That wasn’t something he was used to, frankly, not to sound pitiful, but it was a little bit._

_“Yeah, maybe I should, I’m pretty clumsy I guess…you saw me just now? No one ever notices me in these clothes.” He was wearing all black to blend in better. “Or, well, ever really.”_

_Miles blinked in surprise. “That might be the most depressing statement I ever heard.”_

_Even in the dark he could see him blush. “Oh, I, no! I mean…just, it’s my job!”_

_He wasn’t sure if that’s really what he meant. He didn’t mean to feel sorry for him, he didn’t figure he’d want his pity, and in fact Waylon didn’t, but he was typically a really upbeat guy. Still, being Waylon Park couldn’t be easy when he really thought about it._

_He grabbed Waylon’s hand, took a pen out of his pocket and started writing on his wrist._

_“Here’s my number, text me, we’ll hang out.”_

_Waylon flushed brighter…and smiled brightly. “Sure.”_

_Miles jumped up suddenly, ruffled Waylon’s hair and sauntered back on stage to deliver his lines like it was nothing leaving a bewildered and blushing Waylon behind._

\---

“…I was just thinking…we’ve hung out before a little which is cool, but just backstage or in your apartment, which doesn't really count since it's actually part of the theater. Maybe we should hit the town or something. I don’t think either of us get out of this place enough. Seriously.” 

“That’s true…” He had a point, but….wait. What? Waylon fidgeted shyly. Did he mean…?

“Uh…yeah, maybe after the show or something. Lisa said something about going to that new cafe for open mic night, we could, like-…”

Miles kissed him firmly on the lips. Man, this kid was cute, but he talked too much. He savored the moment briefly and then, pulling back from his soft lips, he paused to enjoy the dumbstruck look on Waylon’s face, a smirk playing on his own. Cute. So cute. 

He stuttered a few times, then his voice dropped lower and he mentally checked that his headset was off. Miles and him hadn’t kissed since they’d known each other as kids. It was true that they'd become reacquainted again recently, but Miles was just a year older than him and he had been Waylon's first kiss. They’d gone to high school together, it was even before Waylon’s parents had…died… so why now? It had been…hell, it’d been almost ten years since then. They’d become strangers, there was no way he still had feelings for him. 

“Miles…” His hearted fluttered manically in his chest as the rest of the chaos of the day simply seemed to vanish. 

“I like you a lot, Waylon…I always have. Even after I went to boarding school I thought about you a lot.” Miles was usually pretty frank with his feelings, but he also wasn’t one to linger on the mushy side of things. Still, Waylon had a way about him that tugged on his heartstrings…made him want to spill his guts. It was his way not to care about things too much, but when he did care...nothing else in the world mattered. He smiled a little. 

“I’m asking you out on a date. Forget Lisa. Let’s go out tomorrow after the show, just relax a little, for old times sake.” 

Waylon swallowed anxiously. He liked Miles a lot too, but…

Eddie wouldn’t like it…

“I don’t know, what…what would we do?” 

Miles shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

“I…” Eddie… “I, uh…yeah. Yeah, okay, let’s go out.” Oh god. No. It was fine. It wasn’t like Eddie had to know about it, he’d make some excuse. He smiled a little nervously, wondering for an instant if Miles could tell that he was nervous. People probably thought his demeanor was much more mousy than he actually was as a person purely for the fact that Eddie constantly had him on edge. “It’s a date.” 

Miles grinned. “It’s a date.” He leaned in closer and kissed him again, softly, coaxing Waylon in, getting him to relax. He didn’t want him to be nervous around him. Waylon remained tense at first, but…his lips were so warm, his hand on the back of his neck, it all felt so nice. Not like Eddie though, it was much different, but it felt…safe. There weren’t any fireworks, nothing cliche like that, but as his tongue began exploring his mouth he could feel his body becoming hotter, an odd sensation in his stomach that made him want more. He relaxed and sighed contentedly into the kiss, parting his lips farther to make room for Miles’ skillful tongue. He put his hands on his chest softly as they experimented on each other, finding the right position, seeing how far they could go. Miles rested a hand on Waylon’s hip as he kissed him more heatedly and buried his fingers into his hair. 

After a while they both got to a point where they were…temporarily satisfied, enough to let go of each other and pull apart to catch their breath. They still had a show to do. Waylon panted softly, his slender chest rising and falling as he looked into Miles’ eyes with a touch of shyness, as well as mischief. He smiled, part of him wishing he didn’t have to get back to work so they could continue.

“Uh…okay,” Waylon said and laughed sweetly. He hesitantly got up from the couch, simultaneously disengaging their tangled bodies. “Okay…cool. Date.” 

Miles just smirked at him and watched him fondly. “Get out of here, dork.” 

Waylon flashed him a playful look as he flattened his clothes and hair then made his way out of the actor’s room. Once back in the hall he fanned himself with one hand and turned his mic back on. 

Phew…well that was a nice little break. He felt good, it was an ego boost if anything, but as he made his way back to the stage he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as an ominous sense of foreboding wormed its way into his consciousness. Eddie couldn’t see them there, right? No, that was ridiculous, he wasn’t omnipotent…right?

….

…and yet he couldn’t shake the classic horror movie feeling of being watched as he maneuvered his way through the darkness of the prop room. He hurried backstage, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably as he dodged broken boards, set mechanics, stacks of boxes and the like, and made his way behind the curtain. He grabbed a rope and climbed up into the rafters to check the mechanics over the stage. He had to get at least some work done before the rest of the crew arrived, and he valued the unseen space to cool off and calm down a little before things got even more crazy.

 

 

 

Waylon stood at the back of the theater to help control the lights and be on hand for anything that could go wrong as the crew and cast worked through their final rehearsal. It was, by all accounts, essentially a full-fledged production, only pausing for intermission, as they performed for an empty theater. The director and assistant director, Trager and Frank respectively, sat in the audience taking notes, critiquing silently, making sure that everything was as it should be for tomorrow’s show. 

It wasn’t that much of a strain for Waylon, most of his work already done by now, and so this was his chance to sit back and enjoy the show, watch the lights, and make sure the atmosphere was appropriate, the spotlights were spot-on, the effects went off without a hitch. Everything had been one-hundred percent so far and so he sat in the back, in the last row of seats, lounging, bored. He’d seen them go over these acts a million-and-one times in the last few months and it had long since ceased to be entertaining. It was literally the same old song and dance, and he thought by now he could have performed them himself if he’d wanted to. Not that he wanted to, he told himself for the third time that evening. I mean, it _could_ be fun to be on stage for once...but, really, he wasn't cut out for that kind of thing.

His mind wandered and, as always, it wandered to Edward Gluskin, his most…mysterious friend, the best friend that he’d ever had honestly, even given the fact that they hadn’t even met officially, having only spoken through the walls, between curtains, in the darkness of the warehouse attached to the theater in which Eddie resided. It was his sanctuary and his prison, as he himself had worded it, although he’d never exactly explained why…

_“It’s just the way things are, Waylon.” Eddie’s deep, woeful voice spoke to him as he sat in the warehouse, perched amongst old dusty boxes and broken furniture the theater no longer needed. It was dark and it was cold, but it was the only place they could be together. In the few months they’d known each other, Eddie had never been known to leave the gloomy building he called his home. Not as far as Waylon knew._

_“But…you could…live with me, i-if you wanted….” Waylon was both intrigued and frightened by the person he’d been speaking to. It was the closest thing he had to friendship, but he knew Eddie had a temper…that he wasn’t all there, that sometimes he said strange things that frightened him and didn’t make sense._

_And so…he had to be careful._

_Eddie smiled to himself in the darkness. His darling was so kind, so pure and selfless, inviting him into his home despite not having much himself. No one had ever been so kind to him. He had nothing to give him in return._

_He was a monster. The least he could do was spare Waylon his unsightly company. Whispers in the dark would have to do._

_“Darling…you are so good to me. But you know that’s impossible. I would never ask that of you.” Waylon heard a creak from somewhere up above. Eddie’s voice was closer now. “What is it that you desire, Waylon? I would like to help you. You are so good and so kind…please, let me help you, darling.”_

_Waylon smiled to himself in the darkness, not bothering to look around. Eddie didn’t like it when he tried to see him, he’d learned, so he kept his gaze forward, focused on nothing in particular. Darling…yes, he was Eddie’s darling…_

_What did he want that Eddie could help him with? He closed his eyes, a pang of sadness in his chest as his smile disappeared. He wanted his parents back, he wanted Eddie to be happy…for himself, what did he want…? Only one thing came to mind and yet really…well, it was the sort of thing anyone else would laugh at him for voicing._

_“I wish…I could…” He paused, embarrassed of his childishness. Eddie coaxed him quietly, “Yes, darling?” He sighed and gathered his courage. Eddie's gentle voice was the only thing that could pull such private thoughts out of him._

_“I just…I wish I could be on stage for once instead of behind it. Never seen, never…appreciated. I mean, it’s fine, I like it. It’s the only thing I’m good at, but it’s…I just want them to see me, just once.” He thought about it for a moment then laughed quietly at himself. “But I’m too shy to act, I wouldn’t be any good at it. Of course. It’s silly.”_

_Eddie paused, holding his breath. That was what he wanted? Suddenly all the music, all the scripts that Eddie had slaved over for years that left him frustrated and empty seemed to fill him and come to life with new purpose...with passion. By god...it was perfect. It was so perfect! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? His thoughts raced frantically as he felt an excitement he could not contain bubbling up inside him._

_“I’ll make you a star, Waylon…you’re so perfect, I know they would love you.” Eddie suddenly sounded, breathless, excited. He could hear him moving around in the dark at a fervent pace._

_Waylon wondered if he could see him blushing. “…no way…you think? I don’t know…”_

_“We’ll practice together, darling…you have everything you need already. I will teach you, and when everything is ready, when the time is right…you’ll be so beautiful, darling.”_

_He wasn’t quite convinced, but Eddie had never been wrong before. He always seemed to know everything…know everything that would happen before it did…if he said it was so, then it was so. “I don’t know…how? I’m not an actor, Eddie…”_

_“You’re not what you’re meant to be, not yet…but there’s a world inside of you the others have yet to see. We’ll show them together. We’ll be so beautiful, darling, you and I together!”_

_A strong hand reached through the dusty air and for the first time Waylon felt Eddie’s hand pressed with the utmost tenderness against his cheek. It startled him at first and his breath hitched in his throat, to think Eddie was so close but he couldn’t see him, flashlight stowed away in his pocket. No one had ever touched his skin with such loving affection. Why did it feel so good? It wasn't merely pleasurable like the caress of a lover, or comforting like the hand of a dear friend. The warmth of his fingers seeped into him and made him know that they were two sides of the same coin. He sank into the touch with a contented sigh and closed his eyes. “Eddie…”_

_“Darling…”_

A violent commotion brought Waylon crashing back down to earth, dragging him abruptly from his thoughts and tossing him back into the present. There was a crash, screaming, and a flurry of movement on stage. He stood, trying to shake his mind back to working order, to process what had happened. People were gathering on stage, people were yelling and crying. There was another shriek of pain and this time Waylon recognized it. 

“…Miles!” He stood and ran frantically to the stage, swiftly flying between the seats as his eyes focused on the problem; Mile was laying on the stage under the wreckage of lights that had fallen from the ceiling. It was a massive light fixture, weighing at least half a ton, wrapped in sparking wires and twisted metal, and it had fallen on him and was now crushing him from the waist down, but Waylon couldn’t yet see the extent of the damage, fuck, why did he have to be so fucking short? Miles’ face was twisted in agony as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, but then Waylon lost sight of him in the chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note for the rest of the chapters, constructive criticism, for the record, is always greatly appreciated. You've all helped me grow so much as a writer. Thank you for reading c:


	2. Beauty Underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon is on the precipice of discovering himself and carving out his career on the big stage thanks to Eddie's interference, but he's beginning to get the feeling that Eddie's, or rather, the Phantom's bloody history, is more extensive than he's prepared to accept. In this chapter we get more of a peek at Eddie and Waylon's odd relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't freaking wait to update, holy poop. Constructive criticism welcome. More chapters to come. I'm having so much fun with this. I hope I can find a way to make this super kinky later while sticking to the plot lol
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: lil' bit of sexual assault/harassment, if that's a big deal then skip the italics

He thought he was going to be sick, but he had to see, he needed to see if Miles was okay. He weaved his lithe frame through the crowd to Miles’ side with a desperation that could only be brought on by panic, oh god oh _god, no no no no._ He heard a booming voice, likely Chris, yelling, “Don’t move it, don’t move it!”

He made it to his side and saw that a portion of the metal fixture in the ceiling had landed on Miles' legs as he tried to throw himself out of the way. Waylon could hardly breathe, he could feel the adrenaline flying through his veins, and the large open space of the theater suddenly seemed suffocatingly small. 

Miles stayed as still as he could bare, hardly able to breathe as his whole body tensed in response to the fire erupting in every nerve ending. His head was spinning and he thought he might be sick or pass out, but it was important to stay conscious in case his attention was needed, he couldn’t go fainting now. He couldn’t even think…what had happened? He'd heard an ominous creak but was in the middle of a monologue so he had no attention to spare for deciphering what the sound might be, barely even registering that the sound was out of place, and then…

Blood, something felt wet, he felt torn somewhere from below the waist, his _leg_ , god his fucking leg.

“God damn motherfucking, FUCK _AHH_ …!!” 

“Miles, Miles, it’s okay, it’s okay, help is coming! You’re alright, breathe! Miles!” He heard Waylon at his side and grabbed onto him tightly, white knuckled as his fingernails bit into the soft skin of Waylon's arm, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He buried his head in Waylon's lap as he waited for the paramedics. Lisa dropped down by them as well, tears pouring down her face, but she had a stronger disposition than Waylon at the moment and so he watched numbly as she spoke soothing words to Miles and tried to comfort him. 

Waylon was dizzy with anxiety as he watched them load a blood-soaked Miles into the ambulance on the stretcher, the director Trager climbing in behind them, likely for insurance purposes as well as personal reasons, and drive away. He stood stock still outside the theater numb and barely aware of a Lisa gripping his shoulder at his side. He suddenly turned and hugged her, shaken to the core. Miles would live, of course he would _live_ , right? But his legs, god, his legs were…he covered his mouth with one hand and moved away from Lisa in case he was going to be sick. He sat on the curb for a while, other actors and crew hovering all around them muttering anxiously as he tried to calm himself. 

After about fifteen minutes of sitting there, but feeling more like an hour had passed, he took a deep breath and turned to look at Lisa. Both of them had calmed down, simply feeling shocked. 

“A…are you okay, Lisa?” She nodded and looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Even after something like that he couldn't help notice how pretty she was, and even when she was covered with almost clown-like levels of stage make up, partially wiped away by tissues and tears. He put his arm around her for support and she leaned on him gently. She was a year older than him, but still smaller as she tucked herself under his arm. 

“God, I didn’t even see it coming, I was just doing the routine with the mirror and then that loud crash and I turned around and…” She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. “Oh…poor Miles! He better be okay, he’ll be okay…”

Waylon nodded as he watched her nervously. Poor Lisa, he hadn’t even been paying attention, he realized with a pang of guilt. She was one of the first people that must have seen Miles, being right there on stage with him during the scene. After another minute she stood and helped him up, sniffling, but she was tough. She was strong and compassionate, perfect for the female lead and they both knew the show would go on, without Miles.

They headed back inside together as they listened to everyone talking in quiet, anxious voices about who would take over Miles’ position now, there was no way he could do the show tomorrow regardless of whatever magic the doctors at the hospital worked. 

He could hear Lisa as she started talking to one of her friends in the cast, and that was the first mention he heard of it, though he already knew it was coming. It always did when something out of the ordinary happened. 

“The opera ghost has been violent in the past though, remember Jeremy Blaire?”

“No way, that was a total accident, he was messing around in the warehouse, that place is dangerous in the dark.”

“Yeah, but it was kinda weird, wasn’t it? Come on, Lisa, you know this place is haunted…” The girl, an attractive, chubby blonde, was clearly spooked as much as she was making gossip. Did it help to have somebody to blame in situations like these, Waylon wondered?

“Uh…I don’t know, guys, I don’t think a ghost could do something like that, even if they did exist,” Waylon piped up. Although…he had checked the equipment less than an hour before and it had been perfectly fine…he would have noticed if…but surely it couldn’t have been…

Eddie…? ...no. Ridiculous. 

But that would mean a grave error on been made on somebody’s part to allow a fixture of that size to go unsecured. How could they all have missed it? There was no-…but if it was his own fault, if he’d overlooked such an important safety concern and now Miles was…

The assistant director Frank herded everyone back into the theater and began trying to calm everyone down. 

“Alright, alright, everyone be quiet!” Steadily, the crowd of people settled down as Frank took his spot on the stage to address them. He waited for silence and then continued, “I know this has been upsetting for us all…but we all know…the show must go on. Right? Right. Unfortunately, Miles didn’t have an understudy for this particular show…” Panicked voices quickly picked up. There was no way anyone would be able to memorize the entire part for tomorrow night’s premiere. No way. None of the actors were qualified to take the part. Frank tried to quiet everyone down but it took a while longer the second time. He was starting to panic as well and they could all see it readily apparent on his face. The theater could not afford to lose that kind of money.

“Waylon could do it, sir!” Lisa called out suddenly, hushing everyone into an abrupt silence. Waylon felt his blood run cold as heads turned and eyes steadily focused on him, some right away, some after a moment once they were able to remember, Waylon? Oh…that tech guy? 

_Shit shit shit shit shit! Why, Lisa?!_

They all looked at the meek boy in disbelief. Lisa grabbed Waylon and started pushing him onto the stage. He let her, unable to summon the strength back into his body to resist or even to pull desperately needed oxygen back into his lunges.

“He-hey…!” 

“He has Miles’ part totally memorized, I’ve practiced with him and he’s really good!” 

There was a long pause as Waylon made his way onto the stage and slowly all eyes in the room focused on him, making him feel immensely uncomfortable. After the tragedy that just occurred, being made the center of attention made his bowels twist and writhe.

And yet…hadn’t this been what he’d wanted…? What he practiced for, what Eddie had been coaching him to do for all these months? He’d gone over the vocal parts that called for singing, memorized every word down to the last detail. He could feel Eddie's strong but gentle hands on his body as they guided him through the movements. It filled him with strength as he met every pair of eyes gazing uncertainly up at him.

Frank eyed him skeptically, but…he didn’t look entirely disbelieving, which was almost worse. He wasn’t actually considering it? Waylon swallowed and met his gaze. “It’s…true. I’ve been practicing with...a coach, I could do it.” He definitely wasn’t going to let them down if they really did need him. Frank heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed his temples in obvious distress. Honestly, fuck this job, he thought. He knew he should have just gone to culinary school, how did he even get himself into this mess? “Alright, alright…Park, meet me in my office in an hour, everybody, I want you all here tomorrow morning bright and early for an extra rehearsal to make up for today, we’ll get the stage fixed…tech crew, you stay! Everyone else, go home!” 

Waylon’s eyes fell on Lisa and she gave him a huge encouraging grin and two thumbs up. It did make him feel a little bit better, but…

Definitely still felt like he was gonna throw up. 

 

———

 

As soon as he had a chance, once he’d checked the lights, the wires, all the mechanics they had over and over again, finally late that night Waylon made his way over to the warehouse, silently slipping his way passed anyone’s notice. It wasn’t difficult; this part of the building was, for all intents and purposes, abandoned, especially at this time of night. Anything they needed for the show had already been retrieved, leaving the rest of the surplus supplies long forgotten.

Waylon slowly slid his hand into his pocket, feeling for his flashlight as he pushed against the large metal door open with straining muscles. It gave at last with a grinding lurch and then a high pitched scrape as it screamed to be oiled. He opened it only the foot or so that he needed in order to sidle into the darkness before he leaned his body back against the door and pushed it closed once again, like the cement slab of a mummy’s sarcophagus, trapping him inside the dim, dusty space. He took out his flashlight and pointed it at the ground as he made his way through the familiar path between boxes, antique seats and armoires, cans of paint, stacks of strongly scented cedar and only god, and maybe Eddie, knew what else. It really needed to be cleaned, it was so littered with odds and ends from passed shows: broken dolls from nut cracker ballets, dead bulbs that once sparkled on the backdrop as a starry night sky…any number of broken or otherwise useless or unnecessary rejects. And then, the two of them.

He felt so vulnerable, as if he could sense Eddie’s presence already in the darkness where he had been waiting for him…as if just his lingering aura was enough to penetrate Waylon’s armor. Guilt, doubt, anxiety filling him as all his emotions rushed to the surface. He had barely made it to the large wooden desk he preferred to sit on and stowed away his flashlight when tears sprang to his eyes and he allowed a sob to burst from his chest. He was exhausted. He was scared and confused. What if Miles never walked again and he was the one responsible? Or if he wasn’t responsible…he recalled the eerie feeling he’d had the other night upon leaving Miles’ dressing room, after they’d set up plans for their date that now would never be. A chill. It had felt as if he was being watched, like he knew that he was now. 

“Eddie,” he cried into the void.

“Darling…” His sensual, tender voice rose to Waylon’s ears from the silence. “My darling…I’m so very proud of you, what are these tears?” Eddie felt a deep pain in his chest as the sound of Waylon's tears hit him like a brick. He would do anything to make it stop. But what reason did he have to cry? It had been a most productive evening.

Waylon wiped his eyes with his palms roughly and sniffed. “Miles…he’s been hurt badly, he’s in the hospital because of me…his legs…”

Eddie was baffled. Waylon’s soft heart often led him to strange conclusions, he’d noticed. 

“Nonsense, it hadn’t the slightest thing to do with you, darling.” Waylon instantly felt relief as strong, warm arms wrapped around him from behind. He closed his teary eyes and sank back into his warmth with a satisfied, trembling sigh as his back met Eddie’s broad chest. He let the doubt and the fear sink out of him, about Miles, about the show, about Eddie…he could never feel safer than he would in moments like these when he held him, when they could be alone together in complete darkness that acted as a barrier between them and the outside world. From reality, cold and cruel. 

Waylon wiped his eyes and turned into Eddie’s body, resting his cheek on his shoulder. He tucked his legs up so that they rested partially on Eddie’s lap, then he completely relaxed as Eddie wrapped strong arms around his waist to draw him closer.

“There’s no need to cry, darling. This is the beginning of all our dreams…of the time where you and I can be together always.” That sounded just perfect to Waylon. He smiled a little. 

Compliant and soothed, he turned his head up to look at Eddie, although he knew he wouldn’t be able to see him, but he liked to imagine. 

“I don’t know if I can…do what Miles does…he’s so talented and I’m just…and poor Miles, I’m so worried…”

“That fucking pig can rot in hell for all I care,” Eddie growled low with sudden aggression. Waylon knew the harsh words weren’t directed at him, but he flinched nonetheless. Still, he dared not pull away. Eddie’s grip on him tightened slightly as he spat, “That fucking pompous…slut thinks he can come between us.” His growl in the darkness instilled fear in Waylon like nothing else could. He…Eddie was…so loving, so good to him, he had done him so many kindnesses in the time they’d known each other. Since meeting Eddie, for the first time in his life he could say that he’d been able to be truly happy with Eddie’s support behind him. But they were connected essentially as one being and that meant that deep down he knew all that Eddie was capable of.

As soon as Eddie came into his life it was like he had always been there. Eddie understood parts of him that Waylon wasn’t even sure he understood himself, a darker side in which he’d always longed to indulge. They weren’t romantic exactly, but their relationship was loving and tender, more so than he had ever been with anyone else. It felt wonderful not to worry about being masculine or feminine, or to worry about what other people thought of their relationship. He could just be himself and allow Eddie to love and take care of him, to touch him…they had an unspoken bond in mind, body, and soul.

But in accepting the good, Eddie also forced him to see the beauty in things that were far from beautiful. It wasn’t normal to sit in a filthy, dark warehouse with a man who’s face he had never seen. It wasn’t normal to…love a man that was likely a murderer. It wasn’t normal not to care about whatever atrocities Eddie may have committed, where he came from, who he even really was. It was dangerous. And most of all it terrified him that, when he really thought about why he didn’t turn Eddie in to the police or even press him about Jeremy Blaire, he realized it was because he was glad that he was dead…he had found himself wondering what it sounded like when Jeremy screamed…did he beg? Did he cry? When his insides were ripped out did they burst right away or did they fall to the cement floor with a wet thump? Jeremy's death didn't matter. The world was better off and sometimes when Waylon was honest with himself he didn't care whether or not Eddie _had_ murdered him.

Neither of them would ever speak of it, but Waylon knew…he just knew what Eddie was capable of. The last person before Miles to have a major accident at the Mount Massive Theater had been Jeremy Blaire, the director of the company at the time, and he’d had his eye on Waylon. Every time he found himself backstage alone somehow Jeremy would appear precisely then.

_Waylon was standing with his hands in an electrical panel along the back wall fiddling with one thing or another to get everything just right when he heard a voice speaking much too close to his ear._

_“Hey, Waylon…how’s it coming along?” The voice made Waylon jump in surprise and Blaire laughed as his smirk stretched ear to ear. “Oh, did I startle you?” He didn’t sound sorry._

_“Oh…yeah, hey, no problem…do you need something?” The older guy made Waylon uncomfortable. If he were like, ten years younger, then Waylon might have just figured he was flirting with him, but the age difference made his advances just inappropriate enough to be creepy. Not to mention Waylon’s obvious efforts to deflect and keep their relationship professional. No means no, buddy._

_“Yeah, I do need something.” Waylon felt his blood curdle like rotten milk as Blaire’s hand found its way into his hair. He tried to keep himself from shuddering out of embarrassment, but also caution in case Blaire decided to take this as a sign of encouragement rather than repulsion. When he didn’t continue speaking, Waylon tried to move the conversation awkwardly away from any possible sexual innuendos as he busied his hands in the panel._

_“Uh…okay…what…can I help you with?”_

_Blaire laughed and Waylon froze as he felt him lean up against him from behind._

_“A couple of things actually…”_

_Off in the distance a dramatic shattering of glass broke the silence accompanied by a shout. “Shit, fuck! Who the fuck released the latch, I told you to-…JEREMY!”_

_Blaire backed off and barked in irritation, “Jesus fucking christ, always something…now somebody pissed off Frank, like working with a barrel of monkeys…” He stormed off, leaving Waylon very relieved and thinking he deserved the rest of the day off._

Thinking back on the incident and the one that happened the following week, Waylon didn’t think there was much of a chance that Blaire’s accident was…an accident. He had been relieved initially on finding out that Blaire wouldn’t be coming back that season, but his stomach sank when Frank made the announcement that he was dead. Rumors spread quickly about the gory method in which he’d managed to thoroughly slice his body down the middle on the buzz saw while stumbling around in the warehouse in the dark. Out of respect, information regarding his death was scarce at first, but eventually details were passed around, gossip sprouted, figuring Blaire had most likely been screwing one of the chorus girls when it happened, but nobody would admit to being involved. 

Waylon and Eddie never discussed it. They didn’t need to. 

But this was different. He couldn’t just forget about what happened to Miles. In time he would work on finding out the truth, but for now it was more important to keep Eddie calm. He had never hurt Waylon…he knew he wouldn’t, and yet…

He decided it was worth the risk to reach up and caress his face in an attempt to calm him. For the first time Waylon felt his smooth, strong jaw and the curve of his cheek and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. If only he could see him...the touch caused Eddie to pause and his body to relax just enough from the ferocity that had caused it to go tense. 

“I’m sorry," Waylon crooned, "You’re right, it’s not important…” He may not have been as forwardly charming some, but he knew how to soothe his savage beast, Eddie Gluskin. He sank into his touch easily as Waylon continued, “If only I could see your face…and we could truly be together…that’s all I really want…please forgive me…”

Eddie’s larger hand came up to encircle his before pulling it closer for a soft kiss.

“Darling,” he breathed heatedly as all the rage seemed to seep out of him and away into nothing like steam. Waylon would always be his greatest weakness. Now that his darling would finally grace the stage to embody his work their journey as one could truly begin. It was only right that he should at last bring him into his world of darkness and beauty where he belonged. He would take him as soon as he was ready. He knew that Waylon was the one who could finally make him whole, and he would fill him up in return.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, darling…come. Let me show you how beautiful we can be.”


	3. Help Me Make the Music of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Waylon hadn't been paying attention something began that he wanted, but knew he wasn't ready for. Too bad though, cause it sounds like Eddie's sick of waiting!

Outside of being slightly infatuated with murderers that doubled as the friendly neighborhood poltergeist, Waylon wasn’t the type of guy to take risks. He wore pocket protectors. He recycled. He kept his head down and his nose clean. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t been exposed to tragedy so early in life if his psyche would have evolved a bit differently because he certainly had the makings of a slightly wittier, slightly more comical than average, regular, nerdy guy. By all accounts he was normal. Deep brown eyes, dirty blonde hair, and a fairly regular build. 

Yes, nothing on the outside could have predicted what lay waiting on the inside to be release. Nothing, and no one, but Eddie Gluskin, who seemed to know him from the inside out like a favorite book. 

Ah…no, he’d seen his darling right away, stripped of all outward visage, merely illusions that life had attempted to use to disguise him. Life itself and the very nature of things, as Eddie saw it, desired to keep them apart, but he knew better. He had seen through its tricks before. And he had been fooled by them at times as well. 

Now all of that was behind them both. 

Waylon held his breath as Eddie detached himself from their embrace then he listened as he stepped down from the wood surface of the desk to the cool cement floor. As Eddie put out his hand, a flurry of lights flickered on in a cascade that slowly began to light up the dark just enough to see by, like fireflies. They wound down a path neatly set between the structures on either side of them like a parted sea, illuminating their way and revealing many of the strange odds and ends that surrounded them. Waylon’s mind lingered madly for a moment on the idea that they reminded him of christmas lights, scattered among the rubble, before his eyes fell at long last on the Phantom of the Opera. 

He reached out slowly, but without hesitation, as he took Eddie’s outstretched hand and hopped down from the desk. He was so busy gawking that he nearly stumbled, but Eddie’s hand held him fast and their eye contact never broke. From touch alone he almost knew that this is how Eddie Gluskin would look, but to see him, all at once, was somehow another matter entirely. In the dim light cast over them he could just barely see that he was startling tall, fashionably dressed in an…incredibly…flattering vest, dress shirt, and criminally well-tailored dress pants, a classic bow tie that was just so Eddie and that made his heart flutter oddly, and slicked back, black hair. His face was…but he seemed to wear a mask of some sort, it was difficult to see properly in such poor lighting. 

This is what he’d wanted all along and as Eddie lead him like a true gentlemen to only he knew where, he realized that it was because seeing him made it feel so much more as if they were finally a part of the same world. Darkness no longer had to be the thing that separated them; it could now be a common ground that they would share together.

Eddie, meanwhile, couldn’t have agreed more on that note. Of course he had seen his darling already at every given chance, from every aspect, as he watched over him through nearly every moment he spent in the theater, but it was a new and wonderful experience to see Waylon _see_ him. He would remember the mesmerized expression he held now for all of his days. He lead him slowly through the labyrinth that made up the darkened warehouse to a large mirror that looked quite sinister in the darkness, but mythical and alluring as well, a sense enhanced by the lights that framed it. If Waylon had had the presence of mind to be confused then he would have been, but as it were, he was merely impressed and astonished as Eddie gripped the ornate mirror’s frame and pulled it back to reveal the entrance to a set of stairs. He lead Waylon down them with the utmost care that he would not trip in his starstruck state, a state in which, Eddie had to admit, had a delightful effect on his ego and was one that he could certainly get used to. No one had ever looked at him like that, at least not without fear in their eyes. Not with affection or excitement, certainly.

As the mirror swung back into place behind them they walked in darkness for a moment, something neither of them minded given their lifestyles and proclivities. Both had excessive experience skulking around in the darkest nooks of the theater and it was nothing for them to fear.

Eddie stopped abruptly. They stood still in the darkness for a moment and as Waylon waited, bewildered, he felt anticipation envelop him from all sides. It felt oddly familiar to fear; he couldn’t have been more vulnerable if he tried and he couldn’t know it but Eddie felt the same. He had gone over and over and _over_ the moments that would follow again and again in preparation and obsession. He imagined it as he lay alone in the darkness, clinging to them like a child clung to their favorite stuffed companion. He saw them every time his gaze fell upon Waylon. 

But what if that wasn’t what Waylon saw when he looked at him?

Eddie stepped toward him slowly then Waylon felt him slide his hands onto his hips, making him breathe sharply in surprise; it was impossible to predict Eddie’s touch in the inky blackness. He heard Eddie laugh quietly, a deep, throaty chuckle, then he moved against him, pressing their bodies flush together. He could hear the playful edge to his voice as he coaxed him back against a wall that seemed to come out of no where. He held his breath as a hand disappeared from his hip and gripped his slender neck, gently pushing up his jaw. Eddie could feel his pulse fluttering rapidly just under his fingertips.

“Do you fear me?” 

“…..” He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure. 

“Do you love me?” 

“Yes.” He was surprised how easily the answer slipped from his treacherous mouth.

Eddie smiled, then faltered, and his smile fell as his mind sank into memories. “From the moment I saw you I knew that you would be the one who could set me free.” From birth he had been trapped in darkness. He saw the light for a short time in his mother, and then that was taken from him as well, that filthy whore. The dark overtook his life once again, invading his mind and raping his soul, and the light only graced him once again on the day he saw his darling, like a gift, like an apology from the world for all the torment it had exposed him to. He couldn’t escape who he was, and he didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t have to be alone again. God, he couldn’t be alone again. 

When he spoke, Waylon felt his words cut him, they were so heartfelt. He could hear the unguarded pain in them. “Darling…you don’t have to be afraid, I would never…ever hurt you, not like…” He paused and swallowed. “I see my future in you, all the beauty in the world, my sweetest fantasies suddenly seem possible…with you…” He took his face in his hands, and it was their first kiss, soft and slow like burning embers growing from ash. Breathless, Waylon grabbed Eddie’s neck in one hand and his shoulder in the other as his hands fumbled blindly and desperately for an anchor. It wasn’t a kiss, not like with Miles, this he could feel down to his toes, or perhaps up from his toes like lightning, something primal and necessary. They fit their mouths and bodies together like a puzzle piece. The darkness didn’t sit between them, rather it seemed to fill them up, encasing them together as one being. It was startling intimate and Waylon was almost glad and yet far from it when they pulled apart panting. Admittedly, something about the situation, everything about it, was overwhelming. 

Something had started when Waylon hadn’t been paying attention, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. 

He noticed then, as he floated back down to earth, that lights had gone on all around them, becoming gradually brighter at a slow and steady pace. He stared around, mouth lingering open as he caught his breath. He wanted to look at everything at once as Eddie pulled away to allow him to take in his surroundings, and surrounded they certainly were by, Waylon never could have guessed, what seemed endless fabric and wonders all around. Eddie held his hand and lead him through what seemed to be a workshop, filled to the very brim with fantastic clothing of every kind, clothing that looked as if it belonged in another world far better and more extravagant than their own. They must have been stage costumes, he thought, though none yet looked familiar. Ball gowns and dresses of every shape, suits cut from intricately embroidered cloth, golds and reds, every color, every shade, bizarre and impossible costumes, outfits for royalty, outfits for slaves, for dancers and dreamers, for ballet and opera, for mystery and adventure. Gems he had never seen before, unbelievably detailed craftsmanship of every imaginable cut. 

At some point Waylon wandered forward of his body’s own volition and began exploring through the shop, his head turning all around as he stepped slowly forward and allowed his gaze to linger on whatever caught his eye. A particular piece had him stop and gape; it was a garment he supposed was for a man based on the cut, red as blood throughout and embellished in hand sewn glittering, gold thread. It was tailored handsomely for a man that was, Waylon day-dreamed, hopefully approximately Eddie’s size. It was completed by impressive black boots and a cascading cape draped along the back in a flood of rich, rippling fabric. It was an attractive and gentlemanly but altogether intimidating ensemble…it was then that Waylon’s gaze fell upon the terrifying mask that accompanied the piece, set on a metal frame that served as a temporary head; it was off-white and seemed, disturbingly, to be carved of bone, although he wasn’t sure why exactly he had that impression, but a sinking feeling in his stomach told him he was right…animal bone, perhaps? He hoped never to be on the wrong end of the outfit’s model. 

“Eddie…d-did you make these?”

“Indeed…I have lived here for most of my lonely life, with too much time on my hands. Crafting these pieces for the stage is my second greatest love in all the world.” A hot blush burst on Waylon’s face, causing Eddie to smile softly before he continued. “Many of these pieces are inspired by you in fact, though not all…every one is a part of me, and in turn you, of course.” Waylon continued looking around, wide-eyed and as delighted as a child. “Amazing…astounding, Eddie, it’s incredible! I can’t believe you made these…” Although Eddie said many of them were made with him in mind, he didn’t see as many clothes for men as he expected. Most of them, in fact, were gowns of varying types, although they were…

Waylon peered more closely at one of the nearest dresses, a sweeping, light blue dress, form fitting and elegant beyond measure, but the shape was…was this perhaps not a dress after all? It seemed to be for a man’s shape, or…he stood before it, thinking that the gown was…oddly suitable for Waylon’s figure, a strange thought, he knew, but it was hard not to notice that it was the precise height, width…everything for Waylon’s figure, in fact he was sure that if he put it on it would hug his body perfectly. He flushed again with embarrassment and turned away from it, quickly moving on. He cleared his throat shyly. 

“These are wonderful, Eddie…we’ve…never used any of these in the shows have we? I don’t recognize them.” He stopped and looked back at Eddie, causing his stomach to lurch much too pleasantly at the sight of him standing there, watching him. The lights were fully bright now and he could see him clear as day in his dress clothes, handsome, almost unnaturally so, and more muscular than he’d expected. He could give the stock room guy, Chris, a war veteran, a run for his money. But that mysterious white mask he wore on just the right side of his face…why would he ever want to hide?

Eddie’s crystal blue eyes shone with blissful devotion as he gazed upon him. “No, these are originals, never been worn. This is my private collection.”

“Oh, what a shame that they won’t be appreciated on stage, they’re remarkable.” He walked back to Eddie, smiling, but with a nagging uneasiness in the back of his mind. 

“Actually, they’re meant precisely for the stage, but they haven’t been needed until now. They’re for you.” 

Waylon stared at him dumbly. “…o..oh….you mean…all of them?” 

“Most of them. The dresses mostly.” He took Waylon’s hand and kissed his knuckles softly, but it did nothing to stave off his hunger for more of him. He would be a liar if he said he didn’t often think of Waylon’s hot, writhing body, free for his use and stripped bare of inhibitions. “You’re going to look so breathtaking on stage, darling…each one tailored precisely to your delicate measurements…you have amazing bone-structure, darling…” 

A tingle ran up his spine and made him shiver. He didn’t…recall Eddie ever taking his measurements, when did he…? 

“That’s…Eddie, I…” Eddie silenced him with a lingering kiss. He moaned softly into it, caught off guard, but found himself at a loss to produce any sounds once Eddie pulled away and lead him off through the workshop again. 

“Don’t be shy, darling, I know you’re going to be perfect. Everyone will love you and admire you, although perhaps not nearly as much as I do.” 

He was so hot with embarrassment and, honestly, panic, he felt like he was going to melt right out of his inferior clothes into a puddle on the floor, but he just _couldn’t_ refuse Eddie, how was he supposed to tell him that he could never wear all the things he’d worked so hard on all this time, thinking only of him? The guilt was more unbearable than the shame. Eddie had never done anything for him but extreme kindnesses, it would be cruel and selfish to turn him down. Even if…was he out of his mind? How could he expect him to wear a dress, on stage, in front of people? Did he…did Eddie think he was a girl? No, there was no way! Right? Absolutely not. 

“E-Eddie…that’s…so kind…”

“Nonsense. I would do anything for you, darling.” 

That shut him up again. And so, he followed Eddie and continued his meltdown in silence. 

“That’s not nearly all, darling, I have a wonderful surprise for you, something just for you and me. I hope you’ll like it, of course we can always make alterations, in fact I expect we will depending on what sort of heals you’ll want to wear…” He chattered on as they walked, Waylon stiff as he hobbled along behind him, hand-in-hand. It was an unfortunate mistake that his chaotic mind vacantly processed an outfit in the back, hung on the wall that was so revealing and blatantly seductive he was certain it would never be seen on stage. No, no way, this wasn’t happening. Was this a dream? It was too pleasant to be a nightmare, or maybe, was this what he subconsciously wanted? That last thought struck him hard and made his head spin, but he couldn’t rid himself of the notion that maybe he did want this. A million thoughts tried and failed to help him make sense of it all.

He vaguely registered Eddie asking him something, something about a veil? 

“Ah…what was that, Eddie?” 

“Oh, nothing, my apologies, darling. I’ve had too much time to think about this, you know, I can’t expect you to know everything you want right away. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.” He fell into step beside Waylon and paused to kiss his temple, placing his strong hands firmly on his shoulders. He moved him forward eagerly and Waylon noticed the nervous waver that abruptly entered his voice as he presented him with another dress, placed aside from the others, given a place of honor it seemed and rightfully so, it was absolutely…it was…

It was a wedding dress. 

After a few moments he remembered to breathe though it came out as more of a gasp. He covered his mouth with his hands in disbelief as he tried to catch his breath and simultaneously hide the fact that he looked and felt like he was going to have a heart attack. Eddie, however, always perceptive, saw Waylon’s reaction right away and after a moment of silence his eyes filled with tears. 

“Darling…” He picked Waylon up in his arms effortlessly, spun him around in unconfined delight and pulled him tightly to his chest. He had never been so happy in his life as he was in this instant, he was sure his heart would burst. At last he could see a way to happiness and an end to the forsaken nightmare he called a life. Waylon really was his dark angel, his one and only, but of course he had never doubted him for an instant. “I’m the happiest man in the world, just to see that you’re…you’re as excited as I am…I will do whatever I have to to make this dream come true for us. The dress should be perfect, we’ll know when you try it on for sure. I even made honeymoon negligee to accompany it, naturally it won’t fit your vulgar bits, but it’s a simple procedure to remove those and it will be just as easy to remove them _before_ the wedding, so please don’t worry yourself.” He pulled back and looked at him with eyes as bright as the moon, one peeking out from the hollow of his mask. “Enough of that dirty talk, please…I know, but please allow me to do this right.”

He sank down on one knee before him and that was when Waylon first realized he was about to faint. He felt an unfamiliar coldness in his chest accompanying a dull ache and a quickly encroaching darkness along the edges of his vision. It really felt like a bad time to lose consciousness and so he tried to push it back, breathe, _stay calm._

“Darling, will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?”

That was the last thing he remembered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism highly encouraged! I hope this is going as well as I feel like it's going, I'm having fun anyway. Are you guys connecting with the characters alright? I guess that's my biggest concern. I've already decided to add a prequel :) but I guess I should finish this first!
> 
> Side note, there's gonna be sex in here. Filthy, filthy sex, somewhere. I swear, I just don't know where yet c; what kinks do you guys have just out of curiosity...mine are all of them.


	4. Magical Lasso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Waylon's debut, but he spends less time being nervous and more time feeling tormented by his conflicted feelings for Eddie...and Miles. And what the hell does Jeremy Blaire have to do with any of this?

_The room filled with the scent of blood and viscera as a massive figure pinned a man to the wall and tore the intestines from his warm, pulsing chest. The stench was even more pungent than the sickening smell of long rotting flesh that lay beneath it. He was hot and uncomfortable, dripping with sweat and still trying to catch his breath, but it was too late now. There was nowhere else to run. Now he lay still as the dead, bound from head to toe, his pale skin plastered with dirt and decay and he couldn’t even remember how he got here, where am the hell was he? He knew nothing, he understood nothing, except that it was better not to struggle, not where Eddie could see him, Eddie…_

_He looked around desperately, relief and dread battling for dominance in his mind as he realized who the hulking monster was before him. He flipped his head around and screamed. “Eddie!” The Groom moved into view and Waylon could see that his ragged but well-tailored dress clothes were covered in blood and filth, but even so he had a tender smile for his bride. It was a smile that contained all the love in the world and it made Waylon's heart flutter up into his throat as if it too wanted to escape. Eddie reached over the table to stroke Waylon’s cheek, a knife gripped tight in his other hand. “Darling…you’re awake…you gave me quite a scare, you minx…” There’s was a sudden, loud mechanical whirring that made him start violently as Eddie tested the saw blade for a moment before turning it off again and focusing his attention back on Waylon, completely undivided. They were the only things in the world. Coming to this realization produced both equal parts horror and euphoria. No one would interrupt. No one would save him._

_“The procedure will hurt…and the conception…and birthing is never easy…”_

_“Eddie!" he gasped frantically, "What’s going on, where…?”_

_“Now now…be a good girl, darling. It’ll only take a second.”_

_He involuntarily started to scream and struggle as a vicious pain erupted in his head, he heard pleasant golden oldies playing off in the distance or perhaps it was just in his head. “Please, please no! I’ll be good, I’ll be good, don’t!” He became hysterical as sobs ripped from his chest. He was so scared, but he was happy too, he was with Eddie after all so everything would be alright. “I just want you to love me, please don’t hurt me! I’ll marry you, I’ll be your god damned wife, Eddie Gluskin!”_

_Eddie stopped suddenly staring at him, enraptured. “Oh…darling!” he purred, and suddenly they were kissing, although he didn’t remember Eddie moving. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, my beautiful wife…” Waylon was no longer tied down, he threw his arms around Eddie and buried his fingers in his Eddie’s skin, Eddie was entirely nude._

_“Fuck me! I’ll do anything you ask- ahh!” His voice broke off as Eddie’s head was suddenly lost under the folds of his wedding dress, wow, it was such a beautiful dress, the fabric so silky and soft, it felt so good slipping across his bare skin. He threw his head back and screamed as distorted, phantasmic shapes flew towards him in the darkness, a skeletal, black, demonic figure, then a face, Miles, Lisa. His vocal chords strained as he screeched in ecstasy and agony into the abyss, Eddie seemed to engulf him, his entire being, no more make it stop please, he couldn’t take it, he-_

Waylon violently jolted awake with a gasp and found himself staring vacantly at the last person he would have ever had on his mind: Trager. He blinked slowly then looked around as a new source of panic began infecting him and pumping adrenaline through his veins. “Where…what?” 

“Rise and shine, sugar!” His usual hint of sarcastic humor laced his voice, but the director was clearly aggravated. He dropped Waylon back on his bed and stormed over to the clock on his bedside table, snatched it up, and pulled on the cord to bring the clock closer to Waylon’s face. “It’s showtime!”

“…what?! No, it’s…” He blinked at the clock. Thankfully, he was exaggerating, as it was still the early afternoon. “Wha…I don’t…”

...

“H…How did you get in my apartment?” 

“Door was unlocked. You oughtta be a little more security conscious, bucko. Now get up, get dressed, can’t laze the day away! We’ve got a show kid, let’s go!” Please, Waylon thought, who could worry about burglars with Eddie around? He was the scariest thing around here and a lock wouldn't stop him. Trager grabbed some random clothes and chucked them at Waylon’s head. The show started at eight o’clock and they had a rehearsal to run with their newest cast member, and pronto. Putting together a show with a new lead in such a short amount of time was unheard of, but they weren’t about to refund a full house either, and Trager wasn’t exactly traditional in his methodology for running a theater.

Waylon jumped up and started trying to put his life back together as quickly as possible. “Jesus…christ, I’m s-so sorry, I…I was on the set and I fainted and I…” “Woah, woah, hold up, buddy, you fainted?” Waylon paused and looked at him. “Well, yeah, I…I’m fine, I just…” “You sure? We can’t have you fainting on us in the middle of the show! Listen…” He walked over to the bedroom door and leaned on its frame casually.

“Take it easy…get your things together, take a short break, get some food and water and take care of yourself then come over to the theater in a half an hour, got it? We need to run these lines with you, make sure you got the blocking and all that.”

He nodded, clutching his clothes to his bare chest and waiting for Trager to leave so he could put them on. He wasn’t used to being an actor yet, which generally involved a lot of stripping in front of other people, heck, he’d even changed in a bathroom stall during gym class for the entirety of high school. 

“Got it…I’ll just get my bearings and I’ll be right down.” Trager nodded back. Waylon was a smart kid, he was concerned, but not worried about tonight’s performance. Maybe it wouldn’t be one hundred percent, or even ninety percent, but it’d be a show. 

Once he’d gone, Waylon changed and headed for the kitchen to get something quick to eat. He knew he should try to refocus his mind away from the dream, or perhaps nightmare, that he’d been having just minutes ago, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was…disgusting and bizarre and wonderful and…he stopped abruptly, cold spaghetti still hanging out of his mouth as he paused while shoveling it in his face in front of the open fridge. He swallowed and tossed the container onto the counter feeling like he was going to be sick. He couldn’t stop thinking about…Eddie, he’d said…he wanted to fucking _cut off his genitals_. What the fuck kind of psychopath was he really dealing with here?

He groaned and slipped heavily into a kitchen chair, burying his face in his tense hands and gripping his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was more disgusted by the situation or by the fact that he was crying about it. Waylon wiped at his eyes angrily. The spaghetti wouldn’t have done him much good anyway, he’d just grab something sometime during rehearsal, maybe someone would do a fast food run. There was no way he could force food down when his body was practically vibrating with the amount of stress and anxiety it was attempting to contain.

God damn it, Eddie...! 

No, but he was more angry at himself, angry because he’d gotten himself into a potentially very dangerous situation. Angry because no matter how he berated himself all he wanted was Eddie with him here now to tell him everything was going to be alright. He was the problem. He was the solution. And Waylon didn’t think there was any hope of changing that. 

As much as he wanted to stay put in his kitchen and wallow in self pity he’d never been someone that could let people down, not intentionally. He was going to pull this show right out of his ass and do the best job he could and for now that would have to be good enough. The more he thought about Eddie the tighter his chest felt and the more his legs seemed to cripple him in place. Feeling a little off-kilter, but determined, he rose, grabbed his script and headed to the stage to make some magic. 

Eddie couldn’t wait to see the show. 

 

 

Rehearsal had been successful, great actually! He thought acting professionally looked like fun, but there was a bit of singing and dancing to the role as well which he didn’t think he would be able to pull off. Eddie had him practice the role throughout the previous months, said he was perfect, hypnotizing, but Waylon didn’t think anyone but Eddie would think so and he never thought he’d actually perform it on stage. It gave him courage to hear his praise, Eddie had amazing taste and he was incredibly talented so if he thought Waylon was amazing then what could he have to fear? But he had Waylon on a pedestal while others seemed to place him somewhere more akin to a ditch. Frankly, it could easily be a total flop. 

He wouldn’t know until he got out there on that stage and gave it a shot. 

Just the thought made him relieved that he hadn’t eaten much earlier…hopefully that would decrease the likelihood of vomiting. 

The familiarity of being backstage would have been soothing if he couldn’t hear the sea of people chattering away at a dull roar. A brimming audience filled the theater just beyond the curtain. The others around him were totally silent, fuck, he wished someone would say something, but they were probably as nervous as he was; not about screwing up though like he was. They’d all been doing this their whole lives, but about Waylon screwing up. Needless to say, that thought didn’t do anything for his nerves. Sometimes Waylon wished he could turn his brain off.

Breathe. Breathe. Go over your lines again. Project your voice. Don’t trip. Breathe. Jesus christ, breathe. 

The lights dimmed. He went over the lighting sequence in his mind, went over the blocking, muttered his lines to himself over and over under his breath as it all went silent.

His anxiety made him self-consciously go over what he was wearing, but as soon as he remembered what he was wearing, that he was wearing something that Eddie had made specifically for him, he suddenly felt…safer. He was about to go on stage and give a performance that Eddie had designed and groomed him for, wearing a vintage, white dress shirt with baby blue pinstripes and matching bow tie and suspenders. They belonged to Eddie, his creation. He wanted this, Eddie wanted this, and he wanted to make him proud, show him that he was worthy of his…love. No one had ever loved him as much as Eddie did and he wanted to repay him for that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or whether the flip-flopping of his stomach was out of infatuation or terror, but what he did know was that this wasn’t just a show to them. This performance was _made of_ them _both_ in equal measures, Eddie’s script, costumes and direction, and Waylon’s talent, giving his vision life and meaning. It was as if the whole world was looking at them as one being on that stage and adoring what they were. It was hard for him to put words to the feeling in his mind, but he never wanted that feeling to stop. It seemed essential to his being.

Those desires were what made him step out onto that stage and give one of the best performances the old theater had ever seen…not the desire to be famous, or adored, or cheered for, but to allow himself for that duration to feel like it was okay for him to feel the way he did about Eddie. 

 

 

 

They wanted to drag him to the cast party, literally, if he wasn’t going to cooperate, but he was just…exhausted, emotionally, physically, and he needed to eat, something more than chips and dip and whatever other kind of junk he assumed the party would supply. Somehow he managed to talk off both Lisa _and_ the intimidating persuasion of Chris’ chiseled structure, using pity to his advantage, which allowed him to sneak off. This was also thanks in no small part to his ability to blend in and go entirely unnoticed, a talent he’d always been more proud of than any other since it came in such handy for situations likes these in which he sought to avoid socialization. 

He wanted to see Eddie, but…he wasn’t ready. He was going to see Miles instead. He was worried about him, he hadn’t seen him since the.. incident.. and selfishly he couldn’t help but think that maybe Miles might be able to help him make some sense out of his shitty life. Even being in the hospital, or whatever other tragedy he faced, Miles seemed to always have it all together. He’d be in a lot of trouble if Eddie found out, but Eddie never left the theater so as long as he didn’t know where he’d gone it should be fine…he would understand that he was tired and overwhelmed and would probably assume he went back to his apartment to rest. 

He wanted to change his clothes first, but…it would be a short trip anyway, his clothes weren’t that weird, right? A little formal, cheesy maybe, but he thought he looked pretty good all things considered. More than anything he just didn’t want to go back to his room, giving Eddie more of chance to stop him on his way. Maybe he wouldn’t force him to stay if he didn’t mention Miles, but Eddie had a really irritating way of making him change his mind about things. He could be very convincing…ahem….he scoffed at himself at the realization that he hadn’t even made it to the hospital yet and he was already preoccupied with thoughts of him again…or maybe _still_ was a better word. 

The woman behind the desk in the hospital lobby looked both perplexed and delighted at the sight of Waylon in his little vintage “I’m about to sing a doo wop” outfit. After explaining he was Miles’ boyfriend, figuring that would be more convincing since the woman seemed to think he was the most adorable thing on the planet, she directed him very politely to the third floor and it took until the moment that the elevator door opened for him to feel nervous. He cursed himself silently as he made his way to Miles’ room for secretly feeling like a stupid kid whenever he was around Miles. The nerd and the cool guy, just like when they were in public school, before they went off to separate private institutions. 

“Come in.” He sounded tired and annoyed. 

The first expression he noticed on Miles’ face was shock, then delight as a soft smile abruptly erupted into a wicked grin. He cackled with mirth and threw his head back into his crisp white hospital pillow with a plastic thump. 

Waylon closed the door behind him as his face bloomed with red. “Oh, shut up.” Maybe he should have changed his clothes after all. 

“No, no, come here! Oh my god, you look so much… _cuter_ in that outfit than me! Ha ha! Oh my _god_ , that is _priceless_. No wonder they gave you the part!”

Waylon glowered at him, but his expression smoothed upon seeing Miles’ legs. One was in a large brace, propped up on some odd white tubular structure, and the other was bandaged heavily, but didn’t appear to have any breaks. The bruising was a bit shocking to see peeking out from under from what covered his wounds, purples and sickly yellows blossoming almost up to his hip.

“Jeez, Miles…I’m sorry…” He suddenly felt inadequate for not thinking to bring flowers or something, but he could see that had Miles already had plenty of visitors more thoughtful than him. His bedside tables and his windowsill were bulging with flowers, get well cards, and gifts, no doubt from a large number of sympathetic friends, family, and admirers. 

Miles waved him off casually, his perfect teeth still blaring at him mercilessly. “Nah, it’s not as bad as it looks. I mean, it is, it’s some pretty nasty stuff, but I’ll walk again, get out of here in no time and be in a wheelchair for a bit. Then crutches probably for a couple months and I’ll be fine. How’d the show go? You don’t look like you’ve been crying bitter tears of shame and disappointment, so that’s a good sign.”

He laughed and sat in a chair by the bed. He could feel the muscles in his face relaxing into an easy smile. “It was…” His heart fluttered with excitement and pride in his chest. “It was great, actually…I think, I mean…I don’t think I messed anything up, Trager and Frank were happy, Lisa said I did great, I figure she would know, working with you.” He smiled modestly. “Course it would have been better if you were there.” 

“I dunno, Way, honestly, yeah, I’m the best.” He smoothed his hair back with a smirk that was the exact opposite of modest. “But that role was tough for me, you know? I’m no good at the docile, sweet character types. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but even though the audience loves me…this particular role fits someone more…piteous…easy to empathize with, tug at the heart strings. I can do it, but you know, it was like the role was made for you.” He reached over and let his fingers graze Waylon’s bow tie flirtatiously. “Besides, you look downright adorable in that getup.” 

“Piteous? Gee, thanks.” He shooed Miles’ hand away playfully, but he knew he was right. His words made him feel uneasy, a little nausea reintroducing itself to his stomach. How could all of this have been a coincidence? Miles noticed the absent stare that crept into Waylon’s features and opened his mouth to prod at the exact moment that a clamor was heard in the hallway followed by a fluttering of papers. 

A sound of, ‘whoops clumsy me!’ was heard in the hall as the person collected the clipboard they’d dropped, but Waylon, who had immediately jolted in terror as if his very soul was leaving his body, still trembled in the aftershock. Jesus. That noise had made him jump so bad, he didn’t realize he’d been so tense. He sighed heavily and slumped forward, rubbing his face in his hands. “Jesus fucking christ…”

“Woah, buddy, feeling a little tense?” His tone was teasing, but the starlet couldn’t help but be concerned. Waylon was kinda shy, at least that’s the kind of impression you got when you first met him, but even Miles knew he had balls of steel when it came right down to it. He was dependable and unshakable in the face of a real challenge.

Waylon slumped back in his chair and allowed his head to loll back so he was staring at the ceiling. Better than looking at Miles who made him feel kinda tingly and nervous, but also had an uncanny way of disarming him into being entirely genuine. Both things were equally bad. He didn’t want to spill anything he shouldn’t. Not for the first time, he had some things he needed to keep in the dark when it came to Eddie. He also didn’t like having feelings for Miles, firstly because he knew Miles would never have real feelings about him back outside of a little casual romancing, and second because it seemed wrong to lead him on when he knew his thoughts mainly centered around Eddie more than anyone or anything else. All the time. Especially when he wished they wouldn’t. 

“Sorry, just the show and…stuff, I never did much on stage before. It’s not as easy as it looks.” 

“Oh, ya think?” He gave Waylon the stink eye for a moment, but then went on. “Pfft…yeah, I guess it’s not so easy for an amateur.” 

Once he felt calmer, he sat up, letting his eyes be drawn almost immediately to Miles’ leg. He stared, feeling guilty, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he thought he could have been neglectful of some aspect of maintenance, because he’d taken Miles’ role from him unintentionally, or because if Eddie really had been responsible then _he_ was the one truly benefiting from Miles’ suffering and ultimately the one that caused it in the first place.

“…does it hurt? Like, right now?” 

“Yeah, I’m on pain meds though, took ‘em a little while before you got here so I feel pretty friggin’ great for the time being.” Waylon laughed as he refocused his attention to Miles’ face. He did seem pretty cheerful for someone that was usually so active and now stuck in a hospital bed, his legs crumpled like a set of accordions…blegh, he wished he could already forget that imagery. 

“That’s good…” He paused, wondering if it was really safe to venture in potentially dangerous waters. “…no date then for us, I guess,” he muttered coyly as he averted his gaze down to his lap. You might not have suspected it from his harmless demeanor, but Waylon was a natural at getting into trouble.

Miles was actually a little surprised Waylon decided to bring it up. He was used to getting whatever guy he wanted, but Waylon had this odd way of simultaneously inviting and rebuking his advances. He’d always flirted with him, but probably twice as long as Waylon even realized. He wasn’t smitten with him like everyone else seemed to be, probably one of the things he liked most about Waylon actually; he was just a genuine guy, didn’t try too hard, didn’t put Miles on a pedestal, just treated him like a regular guy despite his self-asserted diva status. A lot like Jeremy used to be, actually…but he quickly pushed those thoughts back into some deep crevice of his mind. 

“We could have a date here. Have the nurses bring us some shitty cafeteria food. Flowers. Romance, dim the lights.” Waylon laughed at the image, but it actually sounded kinda nice. Silly, relaxed. And now that he was starting to unwind he remembered that he hadn’t eaten.

“Sure, alright…you’re really gonna wear a dress on our first date though?” He gestured with his head to Miles’ hospital gown. He’d opted not to wear pants simply because they were too cumbersome and painful to get on over his legs. Besides, he ain’t got nothin’ to hide! He shot Waylon a warning look as he laughed, but his smile ruined the effect and made him laugh harder. He chuckled himself and grabbed some flowers from the table beside them and thrusted them at Waylon.

“Fine, then I get to be the girl and you can give me these, and go get us some grub.” 

“That’s sexist.”

“No, because we’re both dudes, Waylon, don’t be stupid.” He loved the way Waylon’s laughter rang throughout the sterile room and he made it a point from then onward to hear that laugh as often as possible. 

“Fine, alright, ma’am, I’ll be right back.” He got up to go find a nurse or some food, whichever came first.

“Hey, watch it, buddy, I’m not old enough to get ma’amed, take it back! And we’re the same age!” 

After ten minutes or so Waylon came back with a couple trays of food, the generic hospital meal for that day: a bread bowl of whatever soup, veggies, pudding for dessert, some juice and water for each of them.

“FINALLY,” Miles griped as he snapped his fingers. Waylon smirked at him dryly. “Do you wanna eat or not? You’re a terrible date.” 

“Oh yeah? You won’t be saying that afterwards, I always put out.” Waylon had to stifle his laughter so he wouldn’t spill their carefully collected nourishment all over Miles’ lap as he set his tray on a pullover table at the end of the bed. He set some flowers and a couple stuffed animals he couldn’t imagine Miles actually liked onto the floor, set his tray in the vacated space, then went over to the door and dimmed the lights. 

Miles glanced around at the new atmosphere then looked at Waylon with a seductively predatory look on his face. “Oo…so romantic. My panties are wet, Waylon, you naughty boy. Come here often?” Waylon blushed vibrantly and plopped back in his seat, grabbing his food as he avoided Miles' gaze and ignored his laughter. “Those are terrible pick up lines.” 

“Mm-hmm, yeah, but I don’t need to pick you up. I already have you.”

“Is that so,” He quipped playfully. 

“Yep. That’s why you came all the way here to see me. Alone. Wanted me all to yourself.” 

He smiled as he started eating. “Yeah, right. Shut up and eat your soup.” Miles continued cracking up, teasing and pestering him as they ate, but their banter was evenly matched. And appreciated on both parts, especially by Waylon, who really enjoyed the distraction. The chaos in his mind that was Eddie lingered persistently, but he no longer felt compelled to drag along an oxygen tank to fill his withered lunges simply for not being in his presence. Instead he only felt it tugging at the edges of his mind, a steady whimper he couldn’t pinpoint the source of, or a shadow lingering on the edges of his vision. 

Being with Miles was safe, but not in the way that being with Eddie was…safe. One protected his mind and body, while Eddie seemed to lovingly cradle his very soul in the palm of his hand. 

“Soooo are you gonna tell me what’s with the sad puppy dog face or what?” Miles said once they’d finished eating and Waylon had cleaned away their trays. 

Waylon looked at Miles in vague astonishment. Damn it, Miles seemed like he didn't pay attention, but somehow he always knew everything. “What? What do you mean?” 

“What’s bothering you then if it’s not the role you’re so worried about? I know you’re not cowering just from a little stage time. You might trick everybody else with your little sheep disguise, but I know better than that.”

He paused and sighed in defeat as he tried to determine how much he should tell. “…look, Miles, I don’t….it’s complicated…” As he tried to articulate words, to his horror, he felt a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed, his lip quivering pitifully in a way that Waylon was glad he couldn’t see for himself so he wouldn’t have to deal with that much self-loathing, and then he started to cry. Miles stared at him at first with a bit of alarm, and, then, all-encompassing worry. God, the kid was such a sad sight. Really did tug at the heart strings, just like that. 

“..h..hey. Way. What’s the matter?” 

Waylon buried his face in his hands and shook his head silently, making every effort to control his breathing before he tried to speak. Finally he lowered his hands and picked his head up, but continued to avoid Miles’ gaze. 

“I…okay, just…listen, alright?”

“Yeah, sure, of course. I’m listening.” 

“Just…don’t say I’m crazy, listen and just-“ “Yeah, yeah, I got it, opening my mind, I’m listening!”

“Okay, okay!” Waylon groaned and fidgeted, looking around the room nervously. 

“You know how… people…in the company, and…the stage crew, they all talk about the.. Phantom of the Opera? Like, joking-like and…stuff.” He watched Miles reaction carefully now, hardly daring to breathe. Miles stared back at him hesitantly, not reacting whatsoever except to say uncertainly, “…yeeaahhh…”

He pushed onward. “Well, it’s…just…the thing is…he’s real. The phantom, I mean. I mean, he’s not a phantom, he’s just a…a man, but he-“ 

“I KNEW IT!” Miles sat up with a jerk, making the bed creak loudly, a wild look on his face. “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” he screamed and threw his hand into the drawer on the bedside table with such speed that it knocked everything clear off its surface, violently shattering a vase of flowers with a startling smash. He fumbled for a frantic moment, eyes wide with ecstatic fervor, before he pulled out a pen and a pad of paper with the hospital logo on them. 

He turned to Waylon as a nurse bustled into the room and demanded to know what was going on, if everything was alright, but he ignored her, instead yelling at Waylon, “Tell me! Tell me about the Phantom, tell me everything you know! I knew it was him, I fucking KNEW he was REAL, tell me everything! What’s his name?! How can I find him? He killed Jeremy Blaire, didn’t he?!” 

Waylon stared at Miles blankly. He didn’t even realize Miles worked with Jeremy Blaire directly. And Miles never even seemed interest in the phantom gossip everyone else indulged in, so what was with the sudden passionate interest? Waylon already knew that he'd made a very serious mistake.

“Miles…just… I…calm down.” 

The nurse came over and said in a stern, agitated voice, “Alright now what’s going on? Mr. Upshur, keep your voice _down_. Is everything alright?” 

“YES everything is PERFECT. Tell me, Waylon! How do you know him?! Where is he?!” 

This was bad, this had gone so, so wrong, he knew he should have just kept his mouth shut. Eddie was always right, he told him not to tell anybody, ever. Why couldn’t he have just listened to him? Miles continued to press him urgently as he argued with the nurse and Waylon just stared dumbstruck and afflicted by a rising sense of panic until suddenly he burst. 

Waylon got to his feet, sending the nurse and Miles both into complete silence, Miles grabbing his pen away from her as he began scribbling furiously on the notepad. 

“I can’t.”

Miles stopped and stared at him in shock. “…can’t. What do you mean, _you can’t_?” 

“I can’t talk to you about Eddie. Just drop it. Forget I ever said anything, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Feel better, Miles.” He headed for the door, making a quick escape. 

“Wait, Waylon, WAYLON, fucking WAIT, GOD DAMN IT, COME BACK! WHO’S EDDIE? WHAT'S HIS LAST NAME? TELL ME! WAYLON! WAYLON!” He continued to shout as Waylon bolted down the hall and ran straight to the stairway, taking them two at a time. He ran all the way back to the theater, too consumed by fear and regret to notice or care about his screaming muscles or his sweat soaked shirt. By the time he got back to his apartment he was barely capable of holding his hand steady enough to force his key into the lock. He slammed and locked his door and collapsed on the hardwood floor of his living room, his chest burning as it fought to pump him full of oxygen. 

He’d just barely gotten his breath back when a tight sob escaped his aching lunges. He rubbed his face with the heal of his hand, swearing loudly. “Fuck….fuck!” He had thought, stupidly, that Miles would support him, that he could talk to him about Eddie, give him advice. He never expected him to react that way, yell, frantic, mad, treating Eddie like a criminal…of course, he was a criminal, well, probably, but…god, he’d really fucked up this time. Miles wouldn’t forgive him if he denied him the truth he sought, but he couldn’t trust him to keep Eddie safe. Not like Waylon would. He had to protect Eddie. Above all else, he had to protect Eddie. 

The sound of an unexpected voice broke through Waylon’s quiet sobbing, sucking the breath right back out of him. 

“Darling…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked, I'm so sorry for the wait. Couldn't get my writers block out of the way and my job is also writing so I was just all writed out. But I'm here and I've got my groove. Thanks to all the wonderful artists on Tumblr for keeping me motivated by providing gorgeous fanart <3 check out foxpen on Tumblr if you get a chance, very good Eddie/Waylon comic.


	5. Why Does She Love Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Waylon have some difficult issues to work out. A lovers quarrel, Waylon's second performance, and find out whether or not Waylon gets to keep his dick! All from this exciting new installment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for everything, haha. No, but srsly: Kinda dub-con stuff, kinky shit, domestic violence, sexual stuff, smutty. Enjoy, perverts.

Waylon wondered who would pay for his coffin. He didn’t mind if it wasn’t fancy, he didn’t care about the headstone, but he kind of hoped the inside could be lined with something really soft, something classic, maybe red or purple velvet, or black satin, that would be very nice. He liked to think of death as simply going to sleep…at least, once the dying part was said and done with. 

Oh, but yes…the dying part. 

He slid against the door back up to his feet and thought to himself in the type of nonsense that only comes from panic, that he could actually hear his knees knocking together like an old cartoon. 

“E…Eddie…” He wiped his eyes hurriedly on his blue and white sleeve and attempted to force something like a smile. The grimace that resulted was quite unfortunate. “What are you.. doing here?” Casual, casual, try to sound casual…

Eddie was mad as a hatter, but he wasn’t stupid, far from it. He looked worried, but skeptical…very skeptical as he analyzed Waylon’s state of distress. A dangerous edge of hardness in his voice made the temperature in the room drop thirty degrees. “Darling…you look…harried.”

“I…yes, I ran home…I didn’t want to…be out too longer after dark. I wanted to change and… see you.” He swallowed as Eddie stepped towards him. He couldn’t imagine how anyone that had truly crossed him would feel, such as Jeremy Blaire. He wouldn’t hurt him though…probably…?

“Is that so?” He halted when they were nearly close enough to be touching, looking Waylon over dryly. “To see me…how sweet…” He teased his gloved fingers at the ends of Waylon’s hair softly and he shivered in response as if he’d run an ice cube across his bare stomach. How could he make him feel so vulnerable? It wasn’t as if he’d really done anything wrong anyway…he would be honest, he decided. There was no need to lie about where he’d been. 

“I was at the hospital visiting Miles. It was.. it could have been my fault, after all, with the lights and I just…thought that…I…should….” His voice faded off as Eddie pressed against him and leaned down to brush his lips against his ear. He stopped breathing, too much concentration spent on savoring the heat of Eddie’s breath. All was achingly silent for a moment before he sucked down a sharp gulp of air at the feeling of Eddie’s hand wrapping itself around his neck and squeezing. Hard. Slowly cutting off his air. He squirmed slightly in initial panic at the realization, but then wrapped his arms around Eddie tightly, fingers digging at his shoulder blades in fear.

“Darling, how I love you…you’re not like the rest of those… _ungrateful sluts._ You would never leave me, would you, darling?” His grip tightened painfully, but his voice remained loving and gentle, soft and sincere as if his hand were a separate force he wasn’t even aware of as it strangled the life out of him. Then he released him and Waylon gasped and whimpered involuntarily, to which Eddie just nodded and kissed his ear. “I know, darling, I know. Of course not.” Waylon looked up at him, trembling and gasping as he caught his breath. Eddie was smiling at him and he seemed calm now. He looked down at their feet and swallowed, trying to rid the discomfort and tightness from his throat. He had to say something, apologize? No, wait, fuck no, how fucking dare he. He should slap him, or maybe-… 

Eddie suddenly scooped him into his arms effortlessly as if he were a blushing bride on their honeymoon and began carrying him across the room. 

Waylon blushed and glowered. “H-hey, wait, where…!”

Eddie laughed wholeheartedly. “Now, now, darling, you need your rest! We have another show tomorrow, can’t have you running off and getting into trouble at all hours, hm?”

He brought him into his room and set him on the bed and Waylon would be lying if he said he wasn’t simultaneously impressed, turned on, and very bitter about the way Eddie could just haul him around and put him where ever he wanted. He leaned back on his hands and glared at Eddie, but he just smirked playfully in response.

“Disappointed? Not until the honeymoon, I’m afraid, although you do look ravishing. Still,” he purred as he turned to leave the room, “you do need that outfit tomorrow and I don’t believe there’d be much material left of it to work with if I could have my way with you tonight.”

Waylon hoped Eddie didn’t hear the strangled sound he made in his throat at that remark before he closed the door gently behind him without even looking back to see the stricken look on his face. He wasn’t sure how many times he made himself come that night before his mind was finally forced to succumb to a sleep beseeched by both dreams and nightmares of Eddie’s hands wrapped around his throat. 

 

 

 

“I’m _not_ talking about this with you, just fucking drop it, Miles!” 

He slapped his cell phone down on the couch cushion beside him, his hand still hot from the long and heated conversation, and still twitching from anxiously gripping it so tight. He’d really thought that Miles would have been more understanding about him having a crazy boyfriend. The only thing that even initially concerned him about it was that he and Miles were…sort of dating or something, it wasn’t as if they were exclusive, but it was kind of awkward to bring it up when he wasn’t sure how Miles would feel about the competition (something he probably wasn’t used to when it came to the dating game). 

Now things were beyond awkward; they were a disaster. Even without Miles flat-out telling him what was going on, Waylon had figured out one thing that was essentially the reason for his fervor and hostility on the subject of the Phantom; it seemed Miles had a vendetta, personal or otherwise he wasn’t sure, against this supposed Phantom of the Opera. Eddie had never been convicted of any crimes. Waylon had never actually seen him act out in violence against anyone unless he counted the previous evening's events and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about those. But apparently he wasn’t the only one that suspected the Phantom was responsible for the mysterious injuries and accidents occurring in the theater.

In addition to those that Waylon knew about, Miles had also accused Eddie of at least a dozen other murders having occurred both in a local proximity to the Mount Massive theater and within the theater itself years before Waylon or Miles had ever arrived. 

Of course, Miles was just overreacting, absolutely. What reason would Eddie have for murdering that many people? It was ridiculous, under no circumstances that Waylon was aware of had Eddie even left the theater.

Although…

He sighed and peeled his tense fingers from his phone, massaging them idly as his thoughts churned like the promise of a storm. There wasn’t a whole lot that Waylon even _knew_ about Eddie Gluskin, at least not as much as most people knew about one another when they were so…intimately involved. 

_‘When they’re engaged to be married,’_ he thought as he felt a mad laughter bubbling steadily up into his chest. 

Impossible. Ridiculous, Miles was obviously off his rocker, he’d never been known to be particularly trustworthy and often had many tall stories to tell for the purpose of putting on a show even off the stage, inflating his ego to three times its usual, but still rather fantastic size. 

He wasn’t mad at him simply for the outlandish accusations; given what he suspected about Eddie’s possibly violent past, it wasn’t exactly insulting in and of itself to have a murderer accused of being a full-blown serial killer. No, what made Waylon so aggravated and defensive was that Miles would not stop hounding him as he tried to ring any single drop of incriminating evidence out of Waylon that he could get. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and the more he nagged and berated him the more nervous Waylon was that he could be right, or even worse, that he was wrong, but that it would start a rumor that would damn Eddie whether or not he was guilty. Anything that got the idea in Waylon’s head that Eddie was in harms way, especially needlessly, got him incredibly riled up, and so he’d had just about enough of Miles' antagonizing phone calls. 

He knew lots of things about Eddie. He knew his favorite color, red, his favorite song, I Want a Girl by the American Quartet. He was a talented composer, writer, singer, and tailor. He loved most animals, but he wasn’t particularly fond of cats because they didn’t listen, but he still left scraps of food in the back alley behind the warehouse for the strays and allowed them entry to the building in the winter. He liked children and Waylon knew that he wanted them someday, although he hadn’t realized what the implications of that were for him at the time…he was a bit of a pyromaniac at times, he loved southern comfort food, he abhorred rudeness, but delighted in Waylon’s sarcastic and disdainful remarks and occasionally crude humor.

He knew that he had run away from home when he was small and that he had no family left to speak of. He had learned his skills from his mother who had worked in a tailoring business her and his father had run before they had Eddie. He never, ever spoke of his father. He had a little sister who disappeared when they were children, likely a kidnapping, though Eddie expressed in vague, somber tones, suspicions to the contrary, something Waylon sensed had been an even worser fate.

Waylon knew more about Eddie than anyone else in the world did, he was sure, and he was also sure that no one knew more about him than Eddie did. Miles could accuse and condemn the Phantom as much as he pleased, but when it came down to their very souls Waylon knew that he and Eddie were the same. 

So he put aside his anxieties that whispered echoes to the truth of Miles’ words, for now. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest or the bravest choice he could have made, maybe he was a coward, but it was the only decision he felt he could make. 

After musing neurotically for about a half an hour and lazing on his couch with a definitive pout, Waylon stood and forced all his shitty, aggravated and self-pitying thoughts straight out of his head as he sought to tackle his disastrously filthy apartment. The dishes were first and he ferociously scrubbed them with a violence that suggested they were the source of all his woes. Upon completion the front of his shirt was sopping wet so he went into his tiny laundry room and stripped down to his birthday suit then chucked it all into the washing machine. Once he’d emptied the rest of his hamper into the machine and started it up, he proceeded to storm butt naked through his apartment practically wishing he had a room mate so that he could just dare them to make one remark about his nudity and he would tell them to shut it. God have mercy on any soul that interrupted Waylon’s stress cleaning. He was totally in the zone. By the time he was dressed he was about one snappy comment away from beating someone to death with a slipper. 

He proceeded to vacuum, organize, dust, finish the laundry, take out the trash, and clean the toilet like the devil was on his heels crackin’ a whip. He glowered all the while and swore occasionally at inanimate objects that dared to defy him. Once he’d deemed the apartment’s condition acceptable he showered, dressed again, and started packing up a bag with anything he might need while he was in the theater so he wouldn’t have to come back. He was tired, but his tenacity had the desired effect on his mood, cooling him down so he could focus on his performance that evening. 

Eddie didn’t seek him out directly before the show, but Waylon could sense his presence, feel his eyes as they followed him through the rehearsal. He could almost hear his critiques, his praises in his mind as he ran through his lines and moved across the stage, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Nonetheless, he had to admit that the attention seemed to enhance rather than hinder his performance. It might have been difficult for others to understand it, but he wanted to do well for Eddie even more than he wanted to tell him to fuck off and quit breathing down his neck. He was used to the stalking after all, but it was just that he was a little on edge right before what was only his second performance. It would likely be the largest crowd they would see even compared to the premiere performance now that word of the casting change had had a chance to spread, accompanied by rumors regarding Miles’ accident. The incident would likely be good for business at any rate. 

Waylon should have been nervous. But he wasn’t. 

At least, not nearly as much as he had been the night before. Now that he’d had time to prepare he could hardly wait for the show to begin. He could never have pictured himself doing anything like this before, completely ridiculous, but now he knew how it felt and it was as if it was what he had been meant to be doing his entire life. He had been miserable yesterday and now suddenly everything that had at one time seemed abysmal now felt like a fresh start. He would take it for what it was worth and run with it, and just pray to fucking god he wouldn’t trip. 

 

 

 

Waylon exited the stage and briefly congratulated his fellow cast members as they slipped passed him in a sea of excitement. He threaded between them discreetly and went immediately to the dressing room that was his now, the one that used to belong to Miles.

He was going to get his ass handed to him by Trager later on for not going out to meet the fans after the show, but he really wasn’t able to give a single fuck about that right now. Nothing could touch him.

He felt like an animal, burning, buzzing, as if the metaphorical butterflies people commonly described had made a serious error and wound up somehow in his chest cavity. It wasn’t a distinctly unpleasant feeling, actually, as horrific as it is to imagine having a chest full of winged insects. It was…nice. Great, actually, he was alive and exhilarated, he was free, he felt like himself. Like it was _okay_ to _be_ himself, which in his mind meant maybe it was okay for Eddie to be Eddie, too. 

He didn’t notice any fatigue or pain in his legs as he took off sprinting down the long stretch of hallway that lead to the warehouse. He slammed into the heavy metal doors and gave them a mighty shove, slipped inside, and quickly maneuvered his way around shelving and piles of junk as usual. He surprised even himself by his agility this time though as he vaulted over the large oak desk he and Eddie often sat on, then jogged down the precariously arranged aisle. It was already lit up in preparation for him. _Of course_ Eddie was already waiting for him.

He slowed down when he got to the spot where the mirror should have been that had previously given him entrance to Eddie hideaway, but saw that it was gone. He glanced around thoughtfully in the dimness and saw a path of lights branching off from the main path Eddie had cleared through, ending in a large silhouetted figure. As soon as his eyes fell on it, he breathed a sound of delight and maneuvered his way swiftly towards him. 

He was struck by his violently blue eyes glistening in the sepia glow before he was close enough to reach him. Their eyes met for an instant, long enough for Waylon to delight at Eddie’s dumbstruck and bewildered expression as he gaped at Waylon barreling towards him like a freight train. He didn’t stop until he was just close enough to close the distance then he leapt into him, wrapping his arms and legs around his body clumsily, gripping on with all the ferocity of a true predator. Eddie actually stumbled and had to steady himself a bit. Somehow he still managed to clutch Waylon in his arms to keep him from slipping away or falling, hooking his fingers in his loose, comfortable clothing. Eddie couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen him so…energetic, acting so…forwardly. Sure, he could be a bit of a minx at times, but this was primal and he would have remembered if he had seen that look before. He would have treasured it.

He was about to inquire further, but he would never get the chance. He shut up instantly as Waylon dove in for a fierce and tender kiss. His enthusiasm was completely overwhelming and infectious and so he crushed Waylon's smaller form to his body without hesitation as his chest swelled with warmth and a deep satisfaction like he could get from no place else. 

After a few much too short moments Waylon tore away from the kiss gasping for breath, panting from running all the way here as well as from the kiss itself, but despite that he felt as if he could finally breath for the first time since he’d seen Eddie last. 

Eddie gazed at Waylon, soft and pliable as he drank in the sight of his mussed, sandy hair and flushed expression. 

“Darling…” 

Waylon took a few deep breaths and could feel himself grinning like an idiot. He’d conquered the great Eddie Gluskin and acquired him for his own. 

“I’ve got you,” he asserted triumphantly. 

Eddie gave him a highly amused and slightly condescending glance over as his lips curled into a smirk. It was honestly a pretty ridiculous statement to be making when Waylon was clearly the one settled into Eddie’s gigantic frame, his hands firmly grasped under Waylon’s thighs, very nearly his ass, pulling him tightly into his chest. 

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” Waylon didn’t seem perturbed. He couldn’t help but wish the lights were brighter so he could see Eddie more clearly, but he had to admit the lighting at the moment was pretty damn romantic. He wasn’t a super cheesy guy or anything, but he couldn’t imagine a better way for the moonlight to peer in through the grimy warehouse windows…it made him look…mysterious? Dangerous? He liked it. It was good look for him. 

“You look quite beautiful, darling,” Eddie offered softly.

“Shut up, I do not.” He settled in and nestled his head onto Eddie’s shoulder, closing his eyes. Eddie’s fingers teased at his hair softly as he examined it with deep, silent affection, thinking that Waylon really had no idea how wonderful he was, did he? He sat down on an old couch that could have been a valuable antique at first glance if the ancient maroon cushions weren’t thoroughly torn and stinking of mildew, and if you couldn’t see that the original wood frame had been painted a gaudy gold that had now begun to chip away. It suited Eddie just fine, perfectly in fact. The warehouse was his home and it mirrored him, or perhaps Eddie had begun to micmic the destitution of his surroundings over the many years it had harbored him. Somehow Waylon felt as if he himself fit right into this pretty picture, cradled in Eddie’s arms among the wreckage of showpieces once revered and now discarded, holding nothing but dust and darkness. 

He opened his eyes and sighed contentedly. He felt a fool for ever thinking Eddie would hurt him sincerely. He had choked him…yeah…that probably should have bothered him more than it did, he figured, but he couldn’t explain how it had felt. It was pretty scary, but a sick part of him enjoyed it. He wasn’t quite ready to own up to that part, but it gave him the courage to pursue something that had antagonized his thoughts for some time. He sat up and faced Eddie. 

“Eddie, what was up with…all those dresses and stuff?” He gave him a playful look, as if it were some kind of joke to be shared between them. 

But Eddie’s expression was vacant in return. The way he stared back at him, so serious, seeming a bit affronted by Waylon’s tone, almost made Waylon hesitate and drop the matter all together, but if he didn’t ask about it now it’d make him crazy and he might never get the chance again. 

He proceeded with more caution than before. “I mean…you don’t actually expect me to wear those, right? I’m a guy, Eddie. I’m not gonna…” Eddie’s expression made him stop abruptly, sending shivers down his spine. He could see a feral hint of madness gleaming in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. 

“You don’t want to be with me?” His tone was low, but dangerous.

“N…No, that’s not what I meant, I just…you can’t make me be a woman, I’m not a woman.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit…danger…

Eddie grabbed him roughly by the shirt in two tight fists and threw him to the ground. “You fucking…ungrateful slut…you wanna leave me?” He stood menacingly, sending Waylon scrambling back, scooting away from him as he abruptly became the heroine in a horror film.

“Fuck, no, Eddie, listen!” He tried to keep his voice from trembling as he got to his feet, but before he got the chance Eddie threw a brutal punch to his stomach. It felt like a battering ram being struck straight through him. He gasped and sputtered in agony as he collapsed back to the cold cement floor. Maybe if he ducked his head and looked as small as possible he could get out of this, Eddie wouldn’t, how could he hurt him when he was curled up on the ground like the most pathetic creature in the world, how could he, no way.

“After everything I’ve done for us…you’re all the same! I thought you were different, but you’re just another _whore_ …”

“No, please, just listen Eddie! I want to be with you…!” He choked out the words and convinced himself that his eyes were watering from pain and that he wasn’t crying. 

Eddie shoved him to the ground with his foot roughly then ground his heal into the back of his shoulder, twisting his body at an awkward angle and nearly forcing him to turn and lay on his stomach. He would have done just that if he was able to move, but all he could do was wrap his arms around his stomach and try to curl into himself for protection as Eddie shouted at him that he was a liar. Somewhere in the midst of Eddie berating him, he realized that he couldn’t take anymore and then he was screaming.

“I just want you to love me the way I am without having to fucking mutilate me, why is that so much to ask for? Jesus….ch…christ…” His voice broke and it was impossible to deny he was crying now with how heavy he was sobbing. 

Eddie stopped, taken aback, and some of the madness began to drain from his eyes as he stared down at him. Waylon coughed and choked back a whimper, he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction even if he honestly really didn’t have much dignity left to protect anyway. And what was the point? If he didn’t have Eddie, what did he have? He would never be happy with a “normal” life. Maybe Eddie was a monster, but if so then Waylon was too, not just for loving him, but for many other reasons, one of them being that he honestly he didn’t care if he had murdered Jeremy…that guy was a fucking prick and secretly he thought he deserved what he got. He wondered what it had been like to saw another man in half, not that he would ever do something like that, but he just wondered. And he didn’t condemn Eddie for doing it, if he had. 

No. Waylon wasn’t normal. He wasn’t Miles. He and Eddie probably should both be locked up. He wondered distantly if mental illness ran in his family. It certainly seemed to run in Eddie’s from what he’d told him. Sure, he could exist without Eddie, he’d done it for most of his life, but he didn’t even want to think about what his life would be like if that became necessary. He didn’t want to live in a world that Eddie Gluskin wasn’t a part of, no matter how fucked up that was and god, it was fucked up. 

He dared to glance up at Eddie as hot, shameful tears slipped down his face. He was staring back at him with a disdainful, but still softer expression on his face. He seemed to be considering him questioningly. 

“Of course I love you, darling.”

“Then why do you want to change me? Please, just…” He groaned and got up onto his knees as he watched Eddie fearfully. “I love you so much, I just want to make you happy. Really, that’s all I want, but I’m not…” A woman.

Eddie considered him for a while longer as his anger slowly cooled. He looked him over on his knees before him, crying and sincere and he felt a pang of guilt, as well as a sinful warmth he couldn’t quite place. 

“It’s such a pity….” He sighed and frowned, looking pointedly at Waylon’s crotch. He blushed as he followed Eddie’s gaze, feeling vulnerable and confused rather than indignant. Strangely, though he was still sore from the beating he'd taken, he wasn’t afraid anymore…Eddie wasn’t angry it seemed, for whatever reason. Or was he…? He didn’t stop Eddie as he nudged him between the legs of his pants with his foot as if he were inspecting something filthy he wouldn’t dare touch with his hands.

“These vulgar bits…if only they could be removed then you would be so beautiful…”

That hurt. It hurt deep, Waylon knew he wasn’t anything special, but Eddie at least was supposed to think he was.

“How can you say that?” He rested his hand on Eddie’s leg as Eddie pressed the bottom of his dress shoe against his cock harder. It was meant to hurt and, god, it hurt, but it felt good too as he rotated his foot as if he were rubbing out a cigarette. Honestly, he was just horny; other than Jeremy’s sexual harassment, he was an ultra virgin and Eddie had definitely never touched his dick before, but he couldn’t find words for how much he wanted him to. He gripped the material of Eddie’s pant leg and moaned unintentionally, causing a light blush to instantly blossom across his face. 

“Ah, stop! Eddie, don’t!” Maybe if he would have protested more insistently, tried to push him away, he would have stopped, but he didn’t. He was…intrigued by the way he could make his darling squirm, the way he looked, shameful and pleading in response to his touch. He liked it. Waylon tended to be a bit stoic about his feelings. That was okay though, it made moments like these all the more satisfying. 

“Disgusting…” he muttered sincerely, rocking his foot back and forth before picking up his foot, pressing it against his chest, and shoving him back flat on his back. Waylon cried out in surprise, legs splaying for a moment before he had the chance to cross them tightly. Eddie wished he’d been wearing a dress and began imagining how good he would look like that…a wedding dress, perhaps, a delicate pair of lace underwear confining him strictly underneath. He felt his loins stir hotly and his eyes flashed with such a predatory look that Waylon froze.

“E..Eddie…” He relaxed his legs a bit and fidgeted. As much as he hated to admit it he was a bit hard and it was uncomfortable. Eddie took the opportunity, raised his foot and stepped down on his cock again, rubbing and grinding his foot hard against him. Waylon keened loudly then instantly clapped his hands over his mouth, beyond mortified, but it was hardly necessary. Eddie had him squirming in no time, he pleaded with him, begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t, he was having much too much fun to go back now. He’d never seen Waylon make such exquisite faces before and he longed to see so much more. 

“E..Eddie, fuck, stop….don’t….!” It hurt, god it hurt, and he was so embarrassed he wanted to die, he could just dissolve into the floor and never be seen again, but thoughts like that only made it worse, made him harder, made him moan, plead more emphatically. Eddie ate it all up, smirking softly with an expression of pure arrogance and delight.

“Darling…” He cooed. “My filthy little whore…how positively vulgar…” He ignored Waylon as he cried out and threw his arms over his head to hide his face, he didn’t want Eddie to look him at him, know that he was going to come any instant…but of course, Eddie already knew that. His smirk grew more satisfied by the second as he watched Waylon rocking feverishly against his foot in response to him brutalizing his cock.

“Ah, don’t, wait, please…!” But then he did. Eddie, that fucking bastard, he stopped.

“Darling.” 

Waylon lowered his arms and looked at him wide-eyed, panting and writhing in pleasure and discomfort. 

“Eddie!” _Fuck_ that smug, hungry look on his face. 

And then suddenly he was grinding his heal into him, harder than he thought he could take. 

“Come for me,” he ordered simultaneously, and that was all it took. Along with a fresh, hot wave of shame, Waylon felt himself come long and hard into his pants, wetting them through. He half sobbed, half moaned Eddie’s name, choking it out desperately as Eddie watched his body spasm then go stiff and motionless in ecstasy. He closed his eyes and rolled his head back as he arched his spine upwards. Eddie decided that he’d never seen anything more beautiful. This couldn’t be wrong, nothing about this was in the least bit wrong. He wanted more of this, he wanted to make Waylon cry and beg and call out his name like that everyday for the rest of their lives. 

Waylon lay panting for a moment before covering his face with his arms again and groaning. “…fuck…” He lowered his arms and looked up at Eddie accusingly, tearful, angry, sore all over and, of course, satisfied. He never knew that he was such a depraved, filthy human being, even in his dirtiest fantasies of him and Eddie he had never been able to come up with something like what had just happened here, but it was so perfect. He wanted to be mad about the harsh treatment, but he couldn’t be, not really, but he didn’t have to let Eddie know that. 

He sat up slowly and wiped his face, still burning and flushed with embarrassment. He could feel the wetness in his pants and it did nothing to ease his mortification whatsoever. He glared at Eddie half-heartedly, every bit aware of how pitiful he was and certainly looked. 

Eddie gazed down at him lovingly, knelt down, and picked him up into his arms with the utmost care and caution. 

“I’m so sorry, darling…you are beautiful…I don’t want to hurt you, I only want to love you, darling. Let me take care of you.” He carried off his bride-to-be and although Waylon didn’t know where they were going he really didn’t care. He just wanted to change his clothes and sleep forever. 

“Are you alright, darling?” His eyes were closed, but he felt Eddie kiss his forehead tenderly. He nodded slowly and rested his head on his shoulder. 

“A little bruised in a few places, thank you very much. And just so we’re clear, I’m keeping my penis,” he snapped. If he thought he was going to get off with hitting him and pushing him around he had another thing coming, not to mention preserving his dick was non-negotiable.

Eddie snickered softly. His love certainly was a fiery little thing. 

“Of course, darling…don’t worry. You’ll see, after the wedding I’ll be a better man.”

Waylon groaned and buried his face into Eddie’s neck. That matter would have to wait for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You like? I hope people are still reading this thing, haha! Hope this isn't too weird for you, but humiliation is a big kink of mine and Eddie makes it so so easy. Sorry for the long wait in between updates, I will try to be quicker (yes, I say that every time). 
> 
> :)


	6. Enter Primma Donna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast and crew receive a few mysterious notes from the Phantom regarding the next upcoming show. Somehow Waylon has to keep secrets among scrutiny from Miles, as well as lingering feelings he has for him. Waylon finds out a little bit more about Miles' motivations as well...is he really just a proactive citizen looking for justice for justices sake?

When he finally checked his phone, Waylon had 41 missed calls and a dictionary’s worth of threatening, pleading, and severely melodramatic text messages from Miles. He didn’t read most of them, but once his phone was charged up he went back and glanced through them warily. 

_-to god I will fucking DESTROY you Waylon, how dare you, I ought to-_

_-sorry, really, it’s just really important Way you gotta call me back-_

_-we were friends, but I guess I was wrong-_

_-WAYLON PLEASE I JUST NEED-_

_-WAYLON FUCK YOU JESUS CHR-_

_-hey buddy it’s me again gimme a call-_

_-PIECE OF CRAP I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE-_

_-sorry about that last text it’s been a really rough week it’s not a big deal, really, I don’t even care about-_

_-PICKLE YOUR FUCKING EYEBALLS WAYLON I MEAN IT I DON’T CARE HOW SWEET THAT ASS IS I WILL-_

He figured maybe he owed him at least a phone call. He did technically steal the guy’s spotlight and he was probably going crazy alone in that stupid hospital. Miles didn’t strike Waylon as the kind of guy that was capable of sitting still for any significant period of time, not at least until he finally crashed. He could just see him binging horror movies and gameshows for days on end ( _"NO, god damn it, an e, AN E, buy a vowel, you fucking asshole!"_ ), shoveling handfuls of chips into his face in between gulps of soda straight from the bottle, and cramping as he finally stood up from his computer chair, creaking like an old man. In the end, he finally decided that he would just visit him quick to explain himself, get him off his back, and hit the road. 

After throwing on a comfortable flannel shirt he headed over to the theater; he had to take a swing by it and check the rehearsal schedule before he did anything else, he knew it’d be packed. Luckily, he’d just shoved some cereal in his face so he didn’t have to think about feeding himself for a while. Usually when it came to food he was all out, fixing a fancy platter and the works, or running out the door with a piece of toast in his mouth like a genuine protagonist. Today the latter would certainly be the pattern of today's affairs. 

Still, he kept thinking about Eddie, which wasn’t unusual, but he couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was losing control of the situation as of late. Really, he thought bitterly, he'd never had much of any control of the situation to begin with; he didn’t choose to fall in love with a possibly homicidal maniac, he didn’t choose to live in the theater because he wanted it, only because it was better than his previous situation, and now he was the star of this show and he hadn’t chosen that either (or had he?). He wasn’t complaining, he knew he was fantastically lucky for an orphan with no money and no prospects, but…

Frankly, it was scary when he stopped to think about how little control he really had over his own life despite how _hard_ he'd tried to make the right choices, go to the best schools, get the best grades, and make his late parents proud not just of his achievements but of who he'd become as a person. But for all his efforts nothing seemed to go even remotely as planned. 

And when it came to Eddie? Ha. He was doomed, that much was clear. No matter what Miles said today it wouldn’t change how he felt. He didn’t even want to hear it, except…well, he didn’t want to admit it, but he’d always placed a lot of stock in anything Miles said even before they started becoming more well acquainted. His opinion was valuable and he was trustworthy. He would listen to what he had to say and take it with a grain of salt. 

Really the problem was that he was afraid he would agree with him. Afraid that he would agree that he was in too deep, and afraid of what would have to come next. 

When Waylon got backstage he said hi to a few of the technicians and crew he used to work with, including Billy and Dennis. It wasn’t easy for him to make friends, but he’d always considered them friends as far as friends go, or something like it. Luckily, they didn’t say anything in particular about his disappearance the previous evening; if he was lucky he thought he might even be able to get out to see Miles before Trager and Frank got ahold of him. For now, he paused for a minute to let the crew tease him good-naturedly about his new role.

“Where you been anyway? You a big shot now, don’t got time for your old pals?” Dennis smirked at him and handed him a donut, the snack of choice for stagehands especially any time before noon. Waylon took it gratefully.

“Yeah, we thought maybe you got kidnapped by the Opera Ghost,” Billy teased. 

Waylon chuckled nervously and shoved most of the donut in his face, sealing his fate to be covered in powdered sugar for the rest of the day, but it was worth it if it gave him an excuse to keep his mouth shut.

“Hey, give the kid a break,” Chris said as he stalked over with a grin on his face. “Every dog has his day, right? Maybe I’ll be the lead next month.” They laughed, and then Billy gave Waylon a nudge. 

“Put in a good word for me, I always wanted to be a chorus girl.” They laughed harder, the sound of Chris’s deep chortle filling the echoing space. He was a massive, broad chested figure and although he wasn’t so sure anyone would appreciate Billy’s singing voice, Waylon figured the Choir director would probably kill to really have a pair of lungs like Chris Walker’s at his disposal. Unfortunately for him, Chris was indispensable backstage; his physique was practically pure muscle from his time with the army and it cut the time it took to move the set in half. 

Eventually, Billy got distracted (that happened pretty often), but Chris lingered. He had the look of a man that wanted something so Waylon looked at him expectantly. 

“Hey, Waylon. Have you heard anything about Miles? I haven’t gotten a chance to visit him yet, been all tied up here…” 

“Oh, yeah, he’s good! Uh.. yeah, he’s…I mean, you know him, restless and what not, but his legs…they’ll heal. He’ll be back on the stage hamming it up in no time.” 

Chris sighed in relief and nodded slowly. “Good, good…that’s….great.”

Waylon liked Chris a lot, although he’d been afraid of him when he’d first seen him come backstage, recalling that he had been glad to be up in the rafters at the time. Soon enough, though, he figured out Chris was the typical teddy bear personality type. His stoicism and work ethic were often mistaken for apathy or hostility by people less perceptive than Waylon. Now, knowing better, Waylon wondered how he could have ever made such a mistake. Chris had the kindest eyes of anyone he’d ever met. 

Waylon smiled. “I can tell him you send your well wishes, I’m going to visit him now actually….schedule allowing.” 

He waved him off. “Trager’s always throwing a fit about something. You deserve a break after the last couple days anyway, I say.” He paused as he stared down at Waylon, a hesitant look in his eyes, an expression that seemed odd to Waylon coming from a man that could even look down on Eddie….kinda cute, actually. Chris’ vulnerability had a way of making him feel comfortable and less shy. 

“I…well…you’re going by yourself?” He scanned Waylon cautiously for a reaction. 

Waylon blinked, not sure what he was getting at. “…yyeah…”

Chris fidgeted. “Well, I was just wondering maybe if uh, I could go with you?” 

Oh. “Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, no problem. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you, he’s uh…probably sick of me by now…” Maybe inviting Chris wasn’t such a good idea after all if they were going to be talking about the kinds of thing he knew Miles would want to talk about, but he wasn’t about to take it back now. Chris looked quite happy, he couldn’t take this away from him after saying yes, that’d be like offering a puppy a treat and then throwing it in the garbage disposal. 

Then again…maybe he could spin this to his advantage after all. Miles probably wouldn’t want to blabber about whatever stupid secret missions he was on in front of other people anyway. After all, he’d kept his intentions regarding the Phantom to himself all this time. Hell, he could get the whole crew together and see if they wanted to tag along. 

“That’s a great idea, actually. It’s not really busy right now, I should see if anyone else wants to come now during downtime.” 

Chris nodded. “Excellent. I’ll go grab Lisa, I know she’s been eager to get over there. I’ll meet you at the entrance of the auditorium in five.” Waylon nodded and smiled in response. He also liked that about Chris…his ability to take charge, since Waylon himself really wasn’t much of a leader, or at least, he didn’t like leading. Too much responsibility.

He turned and hurried forward, promptly running straight into Frank, nearly getting a face full of his bushy beard. He recoiled as quickly as was socially acceptable and suppressed a grimace. The chaotic artist often made him feel smothered and…a bit greasy. But he was a brilliant director at the end of the day and that made him the perfect partner for Trager, not to mention that no one else was able to work with the potent, but often disagreeable pair. 

“Oh… uh… hi.. Frank..”

Chris looked at him more confidently. Did anything put this guy off? “Morning, Frank.” 

“Where in the HELL have you been, Waylon Park?” 

It took a moment for him to attempt to conjure a response. “I….what?” He paused, thoughts flying back to the night before when he’d run off as quickly as possible after the show. 

“Oh…”

“Yeah, oh is right!” he exclaimed fiercely while waving a piece of paper wildly in front of Waylon’s face. He stared at it blankly in response, suspecting that he ought to know what the piece of paper was, but he hadn’t the slightest idea. 

“Uh…”

“And where exactly did this come from, hm? You wrote this, didn’t you? Hm?” He flattered it over Waylon’s face. He frowned and took it in his hand to look it over just as Trager sauntered over, a slightly more spastic expression on his face than usual. Great. 

“There he is, good god…where have you been, it’s not like we have a show to run or anything, Waylon, by all means, sleep the day away...for ol’ time's sake!” 

“I wasn’t sleeping…” he muttered indignantly as he began looking over the paper. It appeared to be a letter, written in incredibly eloquent script. 

_Good evening, gentlemen._  
Included are the regulations by which my theater shall be run over the coming months. You would do well to keep this note in a secure location and review it frequently so as to follow them down to the greatest detail.  
Firstly, I would like to remind you that my salary is due. Additionally, as it is essential for me to closely follow the progress of our young prodigy, Waylon Park, I request that you leave box five empty for my occupation at every show following, beginning immediately.  
With warmest regards,  
The Phantom of the Opera 

Waylon was dumbstruck. There were so many things wrong with this letter he didn’t know where to start. 

“Warmest regards…” he muttered skeptically. He hadn’t known it was possible to convey that much sarcasm and disdain within two written words. He could hear his ominously sweet voice inside his head and nearly shivered. He’d counter that bite in Eddie’s tone with a bite of his own later on once Eddie had him alone. 

Waylon cleared his throat, hushing the pair of demons on his shoulders that held an uncanny resemblance to Eddie so that he could focus on more important matters, at least temporarily. He was aware that Eddie had kept up limited communications with Mount Massive’s staff previously in order to manage the theater productions as smoothly as possible, but he never, until this point, imagined that he would actually attend the shows openly among the audience. Was it really safe? Surely it couldn’t be...after all Eddie was severely increasing his chances of being caught. It ought to have been a warning sign that he hadn’t considered that Eddie could be a threat to anyone else. Such concerns, however, would occur to him in time. 

“His _salary_ , how _absurd_. He’s a madman. Why should we be following his orders about anything? Writers _write_ , we can’t allow all this…micromanagement. Ridiculous!” Frank snatched the paper, crushed it into a ball and chucked it aside, the expression on his face one of a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. 

Trager meanwhile seethed quietly, chewing on the corner of his lip as he suppressed some curt response. “A madman. Indeed. But what can we do?” “We ought to simply ignore it!” “Ignore it? Ignore it, do you really think that would work? I mean it could, certainly, yes…” “Of course it would work, we’ll just ignore him! His theater, how ridiculous, even if there is such a thing as the ‘phantom of the opera’.” 

Trager nodded in agreement, chattering on rapidly as Waylon and Chris stared vacantly in response to the pair’s panic and indignation. They let them continue, each wearing the face of a patient mother allowing their toddler to, fine, go ahead and eat the play dough, before they spit it out in disgust. “It’s a prank, nothing more, even if there was a phantom it wouldn’t matter. After all, this is our show and what we say goes. Waylon’s back and that’s all that matters, we shall proceed as-" 

“Trager…WAYLON.” His stomach lurched in shock and anxiety as he heard Miles call his name. 

No, impossible. He looked to the main doors of the auditorium, cringing with dread, and saw to his greatest dismay that Miles was gimping towards them haphazardly on crutches, one leg in a cast, the other a brace hinting at a less severe, but still entirely serious injury. Of course he’d escaped from the hospital and come to the theater….of course he had. Waylon covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Jesus christ….” 

“WAYLON PARK. Where the FUCK did this FUCKING letter come from, huh?! Your little boyfriend?!” He staggered over to them like a robot that had forgotten how to walk properly, clutching a piece of paper in his hand and waving it hysterically as Waylon hid behind Chris’ massive form in terror. When Miles got to him he threw down his crutches, reaching around Chris’s tree trunk of a torso, and grabbed Waylon by the front of his shirt. “READ this piece of shit, now! Unless you sent it, did you send it, you son of a bitch?! Who sent this letter, Waylon, where is he?!” 

Frank tried to grab it out of Waylon’s hand but he gritted his teeth and ducked out of the way swiftly. “Hey, hey, wait, let me read it!” “Hurry up and read it!” “I’m TRYING, Miles, stop it!” He tore away from the crippled Miles and scrambled along Chris’ front, clutching at his forest green tank top and muscular stomach like a frightened squirrel. Miles followed relentlessly, disregarding his mutilated legs, until Chris scooped him up around the waist and stilled him forcefully in his arms. Miles growled and struggled in his arms until Chris grabbed his chin and made him look at him. “Stop. Now.” he commanded fiercely. “Your legs are _broken_ , I won’t let you run around squealing like a little pig until you hurt yourself worse. Now hush.” Miles' face turned bright red and he began to stutter furiously, “Li…little pig….?!” but the look Chris gave him was enough to silence him for now. 

Lisa, just arriving with a duffel bag slug over one strong shoulder, came striding over to them looking alarmed and bewildered by all the commotion and the sight of… “Miles?” She was promptly shushed by the growing crowd of observers as Waylon started to read the note out loud over the chaos, hearing her mumble heatedly in the background, _'oh you did_ not _just shush me!'_... 

“Miles Upshur. Your services shall no longer be needed, it is my humble suggestion that you focus on your unfortunate injuries rather than your.…ahem…lackluster acting career…” “THAT FUCKING-“ “SSHHHH!” Waylon swallowed and continued. “…uh…do not fret, however, as it is with greatest delight that I officially announce the casting for the upcoming production of _Summer’s End_.” Waylon paused nervously, suddenly feeling as if the room’s oxygen levels had drastically decreased. His eyes glanced furtively over the names of the cast members and their given roles, but he already knew what he would find there…or so he thought. 

“Th-this…this can’t be right…” he stuttered quietly to himself in panic. “It…it says…” The blush on his cheeks grew until it entirely engulfed him, muffling and eventually pushing the words right back down his throat. 

Of course, Waylon could always count on Miles to jump right in if the cat had stolen anyone’s tongue. He wondered what it would take to make Miles speechless. “Oh, it’s _right_ , alright! Waylon Park shall be starring in the role of the _Countess_ and Lisa shall be playing her servant! Which, might I add, is not even a _speaking role_ if you remember…." 

Lisa’s mouth fell open aghast for a moment, but then she recovered and laughed it off cautiously. “No, no, it has to be a mistake.” She leaned forward, propping her hands on her knees, laughed harder, and grinned at Waylon as if they were all in on the same joke. “They accidentally placed you as the female lead!” She doubled over giggling as a few other cast members gathered around and exchanged confused, hesitant smiles. 

Waylon thought he might faint like he had when Eddie had asked him to marry him. That had been…unexpected, a bit alarming, but it wasn’t as if it was completely out of the question, after all it was the 21st century and being gay came with challenges and prejudice, but it wasn’t unheard of, they could just move to Massachusetts or something. 

But there were several. HUGE. Like, really REALLY HUGE problems with that sentiment: 1. Waylon was not gay, or, wait, fuck, no, hold on, not a good time to figure that out, 2. Eddie had wanted him to get rid of his penis and it was only natural that such imagery conjured as a result of that notion would cause him to faint, and 3. Eddie might be a serial killer. 

Fainting was probably the best reaction he could have had, all things considered, but that wouldn’t help him now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus as everyone chattered excitedly around him and grabbed for the casting list. At the very least, he was momentarily out of the spotlight. He desperately wanted to go outside and get some air, or better yet slip into the cool, musty atmosphere of the warehouse where he’d be guaranteed darkness and the peace that came along with it. 

Unfortunately, it was not to be; he felt Trager’s hand clamp down on his shoulder before he had the chance to give in to the beckoning that called to him constantly nowadays. 

“Hey, kid, listen, alright. It’s not a mistake, this guy wants you to be his little Juliet to his Romeo. Frank and I each got a letter, we didn’t wanna make even more of a ruckus, but Miles’ interruption is as expected as it is characteristic. Fact is, Frank was the recipient of that particular note. This is the letter I found on my desk this morning.” He handed Waylon a similarly short and eloquent note. The only real differences were the repetition of the casting list, in which Waylon Park was still given the role of the Countess, and an additional note regarding costume preparation mentioning that Eddie already had possession of everyone’s measurements and Waylon’s dress should be available for a fitting within the week. It wasn’t until he’d read the message over for the third time that he finally noticed the P.S. attached unassumingly to the bottom. 

_If you should disobey my commands then a fate more terrible than you can imagine shall befall you._

Waylon looked up at the taller man with a look of horror on his face. “T…Trager, I c-can’t…that’s…how can I…” But he just shrugged it off. “We’ll outsource the dress for Miss Lisa and you too if we have to, but I’m not putting you on stage as a woman. I don’t like being told what to do, you see, and seeing as last time I checked I’m the director what I say goes. Lisa will be playing the Countess and you will be the servant in her stead.” That sounded…better, but… “But…what about…” “You think that little threat is gonna bug me? Nuh-uh. Seriously, what is this guy, a Disney villain? I mean come on, really.” He scoffed, clearly unaware of the mortal danger he was in, or perhaps that the entire theater was in, given the vague wording. 

“But Trager, maybe it-“ 

“Hey.” He gave Waylon a stern, but somehow also mocking look, an expression that was so at home on his withered face. “Remind me, Waylon, who? Is the director here?” He frowned back at the old man, but he got the message. Any further input on his part would not be appreciated. He wasn’t too off-base to assume, either, that anything else he said about the matter would be interpreted as a childish effort to muscle his way back into the spotlight at Lisa’s expense and that was the last thing Waylon wanted. Lisa really did deserve the role more than him anyway even if Waylon’s recent publicity from the last show had elevated him to somewhat of a minor celebrity status, simply, he thought, for the rarity of his sudden claim to fame. It’s not everyday, he thought, that a stagehand took on the lead role in light of a tragic accident the night before a show. Unheard of really. 

Still…the situation already put a knot in Waylon’s stomach. He didn’t doubt that there was a single thing Eddie wouldn’t do to get what he wanted if what he wanted was him. 

Chris came over to them with a Miles in his arms that had long decided not to be too disgruntled about being carried around like a princess. Frankly, Waylon had to agree it suited him as he watched him motion Chris in his direction so that he could berate him further and not have to take a single step. Chris simply wouldn’t allow him to walk so he figured he might as well get the most out of being manhandled. “Waylon Park! I want a word with you!” Miles yelled as they came closer. He glowered down at Waylon as if he’d eaten the last piece of his birthday cake. 

“Did the phantom really write this letter.” It was more of an accusation than a question. 

Waylon shrugged noncommittally and rubbed his arm as he focused his attention to the ground. 

“I don’t know, how should I know what he does…” 

“Don’t toy with me, Park!” Ugh, wow, Miles thought, that sounded a lot like Jeremy, and the mimicry would be more likely to give him nightmares than any anxiety he had regarding Eddie. But there was a huge difference between being assaulted willingly and unwillingly, Miles' thoughts continued. He wasn’t sure which one Eddie was yet in Waylon’s case, but he did know Jeremy was a scumbag no matter what had happened between them. He hoped it wasn’t too rude to think badly of the dead so long as he didn’t say it out loud. 

“Look, Miles, whatever you think I know about what’s going on, I don’t, alright? I’m as lost in all of this as anybody else….if not more so…” He started off towards the doors backstage, but his dreams of an early lunch break were expertly dashed. 

“Waylon! Where do you think you’re going, get back here, bud, no time for lolly-gagging, this season’s not over! You can take a break next month!” He groaned, even though he knew Trager was right. He had to work hard and keep from letting the others down. As he turned back around and rested his hands on his hips his eyes fell on Miles who was staring at him meaningfully. A temporary truce would have to settle in place until they could talk to each other alone. Neither of them had any interest in cracking open this disaster where everyone could view its sordid contents. Still, it would have to be sometime soon for both their menial remnants of sanity. 

He had to admit that Miles looked a bit less threatening when he was being carried bridal style by a hulking ex-marine. Good opportunity to have a little fun actually. 

“You look cute up there, Miles.” His tone was made more antagonistic by the smirk toying at the corner of his lips. 

He couldn’t even describe how satisfying the look was that Miles gave him in response. 

“…what was that?!” he cried out in embarrassed irritation. He leaned heavily out of Chris’s arms, reaching for Waylon threateningly as his fingers twitched with the urge to strangle all the sass out of that stupid, adorable face of his. “Did you just call me cute? I can still wreck you without my legs, Waylon! Get over here!” 

Waylon approached his flailing arms cautiously, but kept a safe distance of at least a couple yards. Chris looked both amused and exasperated, and Waylon knew he could trust him to keep Miles under control at least somewhat, enough not to mutilate anyone anyway. 

“No, I mean it, you guys make a good couple actually.” Waylon grinned. Even though he was joking, saying it made him just a little bit jealous, although he had no right to be. It wasn’t like they were a thing. And of course there was Eddie. Even though he could tell he probably wasn’t watching them by the absence of the eerie tingling situation it usually created in the back of his neck, he was always there inside his mind. 

“What? Who, me and Chris?” He turned in his arms to look at him as if he’d just remembered he was there and Chris’s usually sweet expression grew mischievous as Miles suddenly found themselves nose to nose. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right…what do you say, babe? You don’t need to have legs to have a good time with me…won’t be able to walk when I’m through with you, anyway.” 

Miles stared at him with his mouth agape. He had the face of an angel and his sex appeal was the sort that gave boners away like free samples. Accordingly, he was used to the many lines people fed him, but coming from Chris? Maybe it was his size, his eight pack, or because he’d always seemed shy rather than forward, but it took Miles off guard and before he knew it his face was hot and red. 

“…you…NO way, put me down! Babe?! Is that another pig joke?!” He started squirming while Waylon crouched on the ground and doubled over laughing. He’d never seen Miles look so embarrassed. He would have savored the rare, vulnerable moment if he could have stopped laughing long enough to take it in. If only he’d had a video camera, but his cell phone was just an expensive brick essentially, lacking any of the more modern features most people expected. 

Chris smiled warmly, but his voice took on a more serious tone. “No. I’ll take you back to the hospital, but you’re not walking around. You should be in a wheelchair, or better yet in bed. Best yet, in my bed.” Waylon laughed harder, noting additionally that, clearly, maintaining his grip on the struggling actor required absolutely zero effort. 

“Fine! Bring me over there to sit!” He pointed towards the auditorium seats wearing a pout like a child prince, but Chris obeyed good-naturedly despite continuing to tease, “Say please.” Miles made it quite easy to do, Waylon agreed, as he followed them to the front row and plopped down with a soft thump and a squeak from the old, protesting seat. He slid down low against the back cushion and yawned, wishing there was caffeine in his hand in any consumable form. Chris deposited Miles in the seat beside him and kissed his forehead then wandered off after receiving a punch in one chiseled arm from Miles, which he may not have even felt. 

Waylon glanced at Miles and saw him staring after Chris with a conflicted mixture of agitation, fondness, and…something grim he couldn’t place, something he’d never seen from him before. It made him glance away quickly, feeling uncomfortable. He cleared his throat softly. 

“…he’s a funny guy, huh?” 

Miles scoffed. His eyes lingered in his lap for a moment before he turned to face Waylon. “He’s a nut, just like you." 

“I don’t know if ‘like me’ is a good way to put it, I wouldn’t compare myself to anything with that many abs, but…” He let his voice trail off as his gaze fell on Miles’ cast and brace. “…how do your legs feel? How the hell did you even get here, anyway?" 

“Taxi. Had to pull a few strings in a small city like this just to get one, but I wasn’t about to stay in that stupid hospital room waitin’ for you to show up, especially not when I got this fucking…” He gestured to the letter where people were still standing on the stage and ogling it in a group. The Phantom was a bit of a celebrity after all, at least as much as any of the actors if not more so. 

Waylon rolled his eyes, hardly listening. Pulled some strings? What a diva, more like he picked up a phonebook. 

“Seriously though, Miles.” He turned to face him as concern and anxiety gnawed at his insides. “You need to take better care of yourself, are you really alright? You shouldn’t be on those crutches yet, you need to keep your legs still if they’re gonna heal properly." 

Miles didn’t want to admit it, but the puppy-dog look Waylon gave him filled him with guilt and reminded him of the sharp pains in his limbs. With a sigh, he finally admitted defeat. 

“Yeah…alright. I know,” he muttered softly, taking Waylon’s face in his hand. 

Waylon stopped and stared back at him intently, not expecting the tightness in his chest or the fluttering in his stomach that Miles hand seemed to reach inside him and pull to the surface. Suddenly he realized how much he’d missed him, as a friend, as a….romantic interest, or something. They didn’t really get to spend any time together during their confrontational first visit at the hospital. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful, don’t worry. I’m fine.” His lips quirked into a smirk. “Aw…Way. Were you worried about me?” he teased, not expecting the hug that came immediately afterwards. 

“Of course I was, you big-headed idiot…and you come…trotting in here like a jackass on steroids.” Miles laughed at his word choice and held Waylon close. He sighed and held him tighter so Waylon would know not to let go before he was finished. If Waylon had any idea exactly how much he’d missed seeing his goofy smile, his soft downy hair that he often joked reminded him of a baby lamb’s butt, or that totally uncool, whole-hearted chirping laughter of his, well, it’s something he knew he’d never live down, or be able to live with. 

He wasn’t ready to go down that road again. That was what he’d decided the previous month after he’d lain in bed sobbing like a child plagued with nightmares, chucking his pillow across the room, and screaming at the emptiness both surrounding and inside of him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It wasn’t what he promised, or what he had been promised, but that’s how it was. And that wasn’t really so bad when Waylon was there smiling at him as if he really saw him, not like viewing the harsh beauty of the sun, but like the awe and comfort of lightning bugs. In those moments he had really believed he could save Waylon from the dark, the way it sought him out. It reminded him of the way moths were attracted to light and in a way he couldn’t blame them, Miles was the same after all and weren’t creatures that had always lived in darkness apt to seek light even if it meant flying straight into a flame? 

Waylon watched his serious expression with growing concern. Miles was worrying him again. His leg must have hurt more than he thought. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he supposed, it wasn’t uncommon for Miles to hide pain within the rest of his chaotic emotions, anger mainly. Waylon smiled at him gently in encouragement. 

“Maybe in a couple months you can come see the new show. Lisa’s gonna be great.” He was a bit disappointed, he had to admit, but even more so he was incredibly nervous about how Eddie would react to the change in casting. He envisioned him in his studio working feverishly even now, pouring over pages of music, script, fabric thrown about and bits of string in his hair. It made him smile to imagine it, but caused a lurch in his stomach to think further on down the line to what the consequences of their obstinance would be, and he had no doubt that they would come. 

Miles smile in return was charmingly lopsided. “Don’t worry, Way, you’ll be the star of the next one and it’ll be amazing. Just take a break for now, you earned it.” 

“It’s alright, I’m not disappointed…it’s fine, really, I just…” How could he tell him about his concerns regarding Eddie? Miles was the last person who could be expected to understand. Even now he was frowning at him, already suspicious. 

Miles glanced around to make sure no one was nearby to listen then he leaned in further, dropping his voice down to a near whisper. 

“Are you safe, Waylon? This guy, the Phantom….he’s real. Right?” 

Waylon nodded reluctantly. 

“You’ve met him?” 

Waylon nodded, even more reluctant, mostly because he knew where these questions would eventually lead to: trouble. Miles eyed him hard, the kind of stare that made a person seriously nervous about whether or not someone could actually read minds. 

“Does he live here? In the theater?” 

“I’m not going to tell you that, Miles, seriously. You know that, don’t be a jerk.” 

“Don’t- me? Me, be a jerk?” he shot back indignantly. He leaned in closer conspiratorially which would have been comical if he wasn’t glaring at Waylon like he was getting himself into some serious territory that might result in him being castrated after all. “Waylon…this guy is dangerous. Really dangerous, I’m serious. Listen to me.” He put his hand on Waylon’s shoulder tightly. “You don’t know what he’s done. If you’re involved with this guy somehow you need to get out, now.” 

Once again all the air seemed to have vanished from the room as if the oxygen levels had reached low tide. “..wh…what do you mean? Like what?” He gulped. He was leaning in too now, not daring to miss a word. 

“He’s killed people, Waylon. A lot of people, men, women…the old director of this place…” 

God. No. No. “He really did kill Jeremy? I thought those were…just rumors…?” He swallowed again. He suddenly found that his mouth was so dry he could hardly form a sentence. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, it’s all very suspicious, a lot of coverup going on….I want the truth. I came to work here as an actor, but catching this bastard is why I’m really here.” 

Waylon leaned back and covered his face with his shaking hands. “Are you a cop or something?” 

“No, this is for me…the cops are a bunch of idiots, think I’m nuts. Serial killers usually have a pattern, there’s no pattern here…an intelligent psychopath, like Hannibal Lector. Very little evidence. That’s why I need your help.” Miles’ tone was grim, but fiercely determined. Waylon doubted if there was anything he couldn’t do if he wanted it badly enough. 

But he could hardly hear him over the dull roaring in his mind that seemed to surround him as his whole world collapsed. He lowered his hands and shook his head helplessly. 

“You’re wrong, Miles, you’re wrong, I can’t help you, I can’t-“ 

“You _have_ to, Waylon, listen to me, you have to!” He grabbed his hands in his, squeezing them until they were white in his grip. He was talking so fast that it took all of Waylon’s concentration to absorb his words through the fog of panic that was threatening to engulf him. He stared at him wide-eyed. 

“I _can’t_! I _know_ you’re wrong, you’ve got it all wrong, it’s not Eddie! If it were Eddie I would know!" 

“How, Waylon? How could you possible know if he didn’t want you to know? You don’t know anything about this guy!" 

“No, you’re the one that doesn’t know anything about…anything! He’s an artist, a genius, he’s a good person, he wouldn’t…no, no no no, I won’t help you!” He stood up, breathing heavily, tense with anger and anxiety. 

“Wait, wait, Waylon.” He forced his tone to be calmer, slowing down to reason with him. “Look, I’ll get you proof, okay? If I can find even one scrap of proof, one thing that puts reasonable doubt into your mind, will you help me then?” He gazed up at Waylon, gripping his wrist still to prevent him as best he could from just running off on him where he couldn’t chase. He was his last hope. Waylon sighed heavily, and Miles thought he saw tears in his eyes. 

“I…I don’t know…maybe.” 

Alright. Alright…maybe was good. He could work with a maybe. He nodded. “Good…alright. Okay.” He rubbed Waylon’s hand with his thumb slowly and took a deep breath. “…don’t worry. It’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you, Way. It’ll be alright. I promise. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.” 

He took in the soft warmth of Miles’ expression then turned around, wiping his face in the crook of his elbow. He nodded then muttered, “…I’m gonna go get some food. I’ll grab you something.” 

Miles wanted to protest, but he knew it would be easier to just roll with it. “Mexican.” 

Waylon chuckled. “Alright, Mexican. You got it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys still readin' this thing? Once again, this is probably gonna be a pretty long fic because we're not even through the first act, HA. So if you have any comments or criticism I greatly appreciate you keeping me motivated and coming along for the journey. ALSO, totally willing to consider requests if you guys have kink requests and let me know if you like Chris/Miles, Waylon/Miles, or any other mystery pairings, just because I'm curious. Don't be bashful ;) I'm a disgusting human being. Get out while you still can. 
> 
> Also this chapter was originally one I hated writing because I had such writers block, sorry for the long wait, but it actually turned out to be possibly my favorite chapter so far. What do you think?


	7. Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Miles bond, but things between Waylon and Eddie seem a little...tense. Does Eddie know about Trager and Frank's plans to defy him and upstage Waylon? Sounds like trouble.

Miles didn’t plan on being there when Waylon got back.

Upon their first reacquaintance, Miles had thought that Waylon was, in every way, average. The _epitome_ of normal. Their brief fling as teens only served to enforce this fact. He hadn't been forgettable, but he didn't stand out in Miles' mind either. In recent years, he figured Waylon worked at a regular pace backstage, not doing anything particularly magnificent in terms of his quality of work, went home to a bachelor pad that was mostly clean, but a bit messy, or maybe he had an average looking girlfriend, named something like Jessica Smith, who worked at a cafe. He was shy, but not too shy. He seemed smart, but not too smart, not the kind of guy that tried to make you feel stupid, but the kind of guy that just always seemed to just get it. A good guy that gave to charity sometimes, liked dogs, walked to work, but didn’t have enough motivation to go to the gym. He was good looking, cute, but not swoon-worthy by most peoples’ standards like Miles was. Moderately normal, typically average, just a regular, boring guy. 

God, he was so wrong, he’d never been so wrong. Still, Miles never thought Waylon would be the kind of guy that got involved in anything dangerous or unusual. Nothing about him gave away the fact that he was the loyal lap dog of a murderer, an orphan, or now a well-known and talented actor. It still amazed him how much trouble he seemed to get himself right in the middle of without doing anything other than being himself. 

Yes, Waylon being himself got him into all kinds of trouble, and now it was exactly that that had Miles falling in love with him. Before Waylon, Miles was ready for any true romantic interest in anyone that might creep up on him, constantly on the alert so that he could slaughter it in its infancy before it had the chance to get the best of him. But fuck, Waylon never had any intention of reeling him in, that was the beauty of it, what had been his downfall; he had caught _both of them_ off guard. Miles had thought that if he were ever going to fall in love with someone again they would have to be almost completely identical to….well, perhaps, not identical to him, but they’d have to be rich, brilliant, vicious, dysfunctional, and drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful and flawless like a black panther, hunting him down and tackling him into the dirt. That’s how it had been the first time. 

But Waylon, god, Waylon was the opposite, he was the golden lamb, the innocent, unsuspecting bait, much more prey than predator. Miles had been the one to pounce, spurned into a frenzy he never saw coming, not by some depthless, glimmering portrait of perfection, but by…by…a fucking stagehand in a _second-day old t-shirt_ who’s shampoo smelled like clean cotton, who had an unbearably nerdy interest in comics and shitty old horror movies like _Nosferatu_ , who kissed with reckless abandon and who Miles had suddenly realized he couldn’t stop thinking about. It was disgusting. _‘That color looks like Waylon’s eyes,’_ he mocked, or, _‘Oh, I bet Waylon would like this dvd, I’ll grab it for him.’_ Miles had a fucking illness and its name was Waylon Park. 

What was he supposed to do now?

Jesus christ, no, he wasn’t, god, he _was_ , he was _fucking pining_ over that…that…

He looked around quickly, desperate to stand and walk, not just because he needed to be anywhere than where he was right now, but because he needed to move so that he could express the restless itching in his ever anxious muscles. He had just begun to hoist himself up out of the chair when he made eye contact with a scolding Chris. Damn. The goliath walked over to him and kneeled down on one leg in front of him.

“Come here. Let me help, are you alright?”

Miles nodded and looked down uncertainly. Normally he would be too proud to accept such assistance, but he didn’t feel up to fighting it at the moment.

“Yes, please.”

Chris didn’t tease him. Not now. Miles reached for him, mistakenly thinking he could just use some of his body mass as a crutch, but Chris wouldn’t have it, instead taking the opportunity to reach under his arms and scoop him up so that instead Miles’ arms rested around his neck. It might have made Miles blush. Just a little bit, maybe, if anyone had cared to notice. 

He cleared his throat shyly. “Uh. Could you take me backstage?”

Chris nodded and started his way back into the shadows of the theater, slipping between the curtains on one side of the stage. “Where you headed?” 

Pause. “The old director’s office.”

“Jeremy’s?”

Miles nodded. “..yeah.”

“You got it.”

He sighed and rested his head on Chris’s shoulder wearily, closing his eyes, just for a moment.

“Long day?” Chris spoke softly. Miles’ hair tickled his bare arm as he nodded. “It’s alright.”

Miles opened his eyes again at the recognition of Jeremy’s door clicking open quietly in the empty hallway. A familiar sound like that made the loss fresh and raw, lending to the fact that he hadn’t been in here but once or twice since his passing. 

Chris hesitated at the entrance, viewing the dim room and its tidy, dust drenched contents. He could see cascades of dust swirling in the rays of sun that barely leaked in through the blinds. After closing the door behind them he stepped carefully to the only vaguely dust-free item of furniture in the vicinity: a soft leather couch lurking beside a large, L-shaped desk. Finding he wasn’t quite ready to release his charge yet, he sat down on the quietly creaking leather with a sigh. The musty silence reminded him morbidly of a crypt, but he didn’t break it for Miles’ sake, as well as for his own. His chest felt fit to burst from the warmth of holding Miles this closely, unimpeded by space or the knowledge that moments like these were only moments, his to keep, but only as long and as well as memory’s of his fondness for Miles’ and their time together would permit. 

Eventually it was Miles who broke them each from their reveries. 

“Chris...do you believe Hell exists?” His voice was as soft as a kitten’s, timid, and frankly not the sort of sound he ever expected to hear come out of Miles’ mouth.

“…hell? Nah, I can’t say that I do.”

“Really?” Searching. Hopeful. 

“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ this, I’m not really religious or anything, but I think the whole thing’s stupid…good and bad, punishment, eternal damnation and all that. Even shitty people think they’re the good guy from their own point of view. I think infinite misery is a bit steep to enforce on a guy for one lifetime of bad decisions. I don’t hold grudges and I’m damn sure I wouldn’t worship a god that did anyhow.” Miles glanced up at him, feeling his chest rise and fall against his cheek as he sighed deeply. There was a long moment where neither of them said anything before Chris continued, “I mean, beat up the guy and move on, right?”

Miles chuckled softly. He had to agree with that. 

“I hope you’re right. Otherwise I know some friends of mine that are gonna be in some real trouble…”

“By friends of yours do you mean…you?” He glanced down at him playfully as Miles laughed again. 

“Yeah, yeah, I kinda do mean me, actually. Both, I guess…” He sighed heavily, causing him to cough a bit. Maybe Chris’ powerful lunges were less prone to the stagnant, dust rich air than his own lunges were.

“Were you lovers?” 

Miles fidgeted awkwardly after a hesitant silence. “Were we lovers? Who, me and Blaire?”

“Yeah.” He was just as hesitant. Perhaps the question was prying, but he figured if it was then Miles wouldn’t be the kind to answer just for his sake anyway. And he really just…wanted to know. Not that it mattered, perhaps, as it was no secret to him that Miles and Waylon were an item, so he assumed. It seemed quite clear to him how they felt about one another, whether or not either of them were actually aware of it. Nonetheless, he ached for the truth about Jeremy and Miles because more than anything it was clearly important to Miles, and so it was important to him as well. 

Enough time passed that Chris thought maybe he wouldn’t answer. 

“Yeah…yeah, we…we were somethin’. I don’t know.”

“You must really miss him, huh?” He didn’t need to know the details. Whatever he was comfortable with was enough for him. He’d lost his family when he was younger, hardly more than a child himself when his wife and son were killed, and for what seemed an unjust amount of time he thought he’d never recover from the pain. In many ways he hadn’t, but in many ways he had, and considered himself not nearly the same kid he’d been nearly ten years ago. 

“Yeah. He was a shit stain, but…he…” Miles' eyes glazed over with tears he figured he should have seen coming before they actually did, but somehow they managed to surprise him. “He wanted people to think he was a shit stain too though…it’s complicated, I just…I never knew anybody like him.” He swallowed thickly, trying to remember if he’d ever spoken about Jeremy out loud to anyone. When his voice was steadier he continued almost indignantly, “Even when he was alive it wasn’t like we fucking…held hands or shared milkshakes at the diner or any shit like that, we weren’t dating, we were…” He pushed out a frustrated breath and covered his damp face with his hands. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t know, I don’t know, god, I’m so sick of fucking thinking about it, about him and his…greasy, perfect hair, that dumb little cuff pin he used to wear, and his…” He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped forming cohesive sentences and began sobbing instead, but he knew it was too late to stop. 

“I just can’t…I can’t let Waylon…not like Jeremy…” he choked with less strength and more quiver than he'd intended. 

Chris rubbed his arm and tightened his own arms closer around him, and it wasn’t awkward like it easily could have been, like it probably should have been, it was just nice, more than nice and it was so much easier to focus on the feeling of Chris’ warm hands and the sound of his soothing words than the pitiful echoes of his own sobs and whimpers in the small room. 

“S’alright, now, hush, don’t cry…” His voice was so gentle and kind it made Miles wonder if Chris had any children. He must be amazing with kids, he thought, as his mind conjured images of Chris reading bedtime stories to huddled, sleeping forms tucked into their pastel comforters. He never liked kids himself, but he liked the idea of Chris liking kids, something about the idea of a gentle giant or something like that must have appealed to him. 

In time his tears stopped and he turned to take a handful of Chris’s shirt to wipe his face with, making his chest bounce slightly in laughter. 

“I don’t make it a habit to go around making pretty boys cry, mind you.”

“Oh, just the ugly ones?” 

They both laughed a little and looked at each other. Chris took his face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe a few stray tears and a loose eyelash away. He sighed as he looked over the red, puffy evidence of Miles’ pain. 

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Waylon, but remember to take care of yourself first, alright? Or you won’t make it to next season, and then who’s going to sit in the handicapped seats and be a loudmouth pain in the ass?”

Miles smirked and planted his palm firmly over Chris’s mouth. “Fuck you, dickweed.” He took his hand back to reveal Chris’s wide grin and it made him smile in turn. “Alright, soap opera’s over. Would you, um…” “Strip you and make yah squeal like a little piggy? Anything for you, babe.” “NO, fuck, where do you come up with this shit?” Chris stood, smirking, and readjusted his grip on his princess before heading back to the auditorium while Miles gave him a skeptical look. 

“Alright, if you say so, but if you ever need someone to show you what you’re really made of…I’ve got time, lots of rope, and you know where to find me.” 

Despite himself, Miles found himself blushing fiercely all the way back onto the stage. “Jesus, you’ve got some fucked up shit in that cute little meat head of yours, don’tcha, Chrissy?” 

“Only when it comes to you, babe.”

Miles laughed a little just as he spotted Waylon sitting in the auditorium seats with a confused and worried look on his face…and a pile of Mexican food. As Chris brought him over and sat him down beside a relieved looking Waylon, Miles stopped him from pulling away completely by lacing his arms around his neck. “Hey.” Chris stopped and looked at him curiously. Miles planted a slow kiss on his cheek then looked him in the eyes. “Thank you. Seriously…I didn’t mean for you to…I was kind of a mess back there, I…well, thanks…” Chris smiled, just a bit at first, then wider until his expression lit up the room all the way back to the cheap seats. He cupped Miles’ cheek briefly and nodded then headed back to the stage. Waylon watched, noting that Chris definitely looked a little bouncier than normal. 

“Anytime, let me know if you need anything. I’ll find you a wheelchair!” He called back as he disappeared between the curtains, though they could still hear him whistling somewhere off in the distance. 

Waylon and Miles both stared after him blankly for a few moments, Waylon with a mouthful of rice, before he looked over at Miles with a small smirk. “Looks like someone had a good time.”

Miles scoffed and reclined back in his seat with a broad, arrogant smirk on his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Jealous?” 

“Pfftt.” He flicked some beans off of a plastic fork in his direction. “You wish.”

 

 

 

Rehearsal was rough to say the least, carrying long into the evening until he felt more like strangling Trager than adhering to another one of his ridiculously attentive and minuscule scrutinies. Although Waylon’s performances had gone well thus far, he didn’t exactly have the same training that the rest of the cast had. His main focus in school had been technical work, not performance art. Luckily, he’d been involved in theater long enough that being a fast learner was enough to give him the air of a professional and with Eddie’s teachings guiding him he couldn’t go wrong. 

By nightfall he was more than ready to head home and sleep until someone came pounding on his door to drag him back to the stage. Most of the cast and crew had already left, but Waylon needed to stay longer. Trager was a damn good director, but that meant he wouldn’t let any imperfect performances out on the stage if he could help it. He was new in the company anyway, so it wasn’t any surprise. Even Chris and Miles had left although they’d stayed back for a while to appreciate the free show, not because it was so enthralling that they couldn’t tear themselves away, but because Miles was very persuasive and the last thing he wanted to do was return to the hospital. Chris wasn’t about to leave Miles to his own devices, knowing full well that he’d get himself into trouble or perhaps not return at all and that wouldn’t do. He might have even bunked with Waylon for the night and that would be…unacceptable. 

And so, for most of the evening, Chris sat in the audience while Miles lounged snuggly in his lap. Chris might as well have been a sexy man-shaped beanbag chair for all the ease and comfort he exhibited in Chris’s arms, laying back on his chest like a starlet reading romance novels poolside. Miles had to admit that he was a bit jealous of the sudden chemistry which the opposing gentlemen seemed to exude. It was selfish and misguided for him to feel that way, clearly, he knew that, but he had to admit that it was nice to grab someone’s attention, someone’s like Miles’. He was the diva, the star, the one all eyes’ focused on as soon as he entered a room and as embarrassing as it was the think about…it made him feel good that Miles was the one looking at him. He’d had quite the crush on him in the beginning, but with Eddie in the picture there’d never been any real competition and increasingly he found that to be true. Besides, Miles was just into him cause he thought he was attractive, right? Right. 

At some point Waylon found that, in between the glances he threw the couple from the stage, he was no longer jealous of the cozy pair as they cuddled happily, laughing and teasing one another, just your typical pair of guy friends that also happened to want to hump each other emphatically. They reminded him of himself and Eddie, actually, if just a bit in the way they glared at each other without heat, or the way that heat found its way into other initially innocent interactions like Miles shifting to get more comfortable or Chris brushing Miles’ hair out of his face when Miles leaned back and it tickled his nose. He saw the starlet pout and smirk while Chris teased and stared at him with stars in his eyes. Like a docile lap cat, Miles was practically asleep by the time Chris gently coaxed him into the wheelchair and took him back to the hospital. The lack of fight left in Miles as he was wheeled out the door was incredible to witness. 

He plopped his butt down on the hardwood of the stage and relaxed for a moment as he watched the remaining crew begin to disperse. He rubbed his neck firmly and heaved a sigh as he tried to decide whether or not he ought to head straight to bed or if it would be alright for him to visit Eddie for a while. Then again, if Eddie had found out that they wouldn’t be following his orders then spending time with him could be a bit of a nerve-racking experience. 

Of course… in the end he figured he could just pop in to see him quickly. Just a for a quick visit, a hello, a peck on the cheek, nothing to feel guilty about. He rose slowly and steadily and then made his way back between the large crimson curtains flanking the stage, sliding into the comfort of the shadows they cast. 

A jolt of terror shot through his body as he felt a hulking weight move up behind him and then a strong hand clamp tightly over his mouth. The figure wrapped an arm around his waist, sturdy like the trunk of an old tree, before he even thought to struggle. Even once he did, of course, it had little effect on his sturdy assailant. Panic, unintelligent and primal filled his body as the man held him in a rough vice. He felt the skin of one cool palm press against the side of his head, fingers burying into his hair before it pushed his head to the side and hot breath crept over his neck. He could have screamed, but held back. 

“… _bravissimo_ …” 

“…Eddie, you fucking _asshole_ , you…!” He attempted to scold him for the scare, but he didn’t get the chance. Eddie clamped his hand back over his mouth, tutting at him like a child. 

“ _Sshhh shh shh_ ….don’t make a fuss now, darling.” 

He breathed heavily out of his nose like a cranky baby rhinoceros on the verge of a solo stampede, but his protests transformed into the feeble protests of a kitten as Eddie’s ministrations moved to delicately nibbling at his ear. Suddenly he was very aware of the proximity their bodies held to one another, but he tried not to let it distract him from the matter at hand, or from being angry.

Eddie let him squirm for a bit before relaxing his grip and releasing him. Waylon immediately moved away already panting gently from the forced contact. Eddie had no idea what he did to him…or….he probably did, actually, now that he thought about it. What a prick. 

He turned to face the taller, bulkier man in indignation, but also with a look of extreme apprehension on his face. 

“Eddie! You can’t,” he hissed as his head whipped around to scan their surroundings. Luckily they were alone so far. “Someone will _see you!”_ Why’d he have to show his face now, of all times? Could it be that he was already here with something nefarious in mind, to make them sorry for not doing as he asked? With that thought in his mind he was already incredibly on edge. Thank god Miles had already left, but Trager and Frank might still be around…

Clearly, his chaotic thoughts were no match for whatever Eddie already had in mind. Before he knew it his perspective had changed drastically and he realized Eddie had somehow gotten them up into the ceiling. He gasped for breath and clung to Eddie’s shirt in alarm as he turned his gaze back down to the stage below them, his head spinning wildly. If it weren’t for the arm around his waist he was sure he would have tipped over and fallen right out of the rafters. 

“Ho…how did you….?! Did you seriously hook yourself up to the mechanisms in the ceiling just to-….what are we…”

“It’s a beautiful night, I’m taking you on the roof.” He looked amused and not entirely regretful about scaring him. He had him thrown over his shoulder in a moment and then he made his way through the blackness. 

“E-Eddie, is there a way onto the roof from….here? Oh.” He’d spent a lot of time up in the lights and somehow he was still shocked when cool night air suddenly struck him from behind as he hung over Eddie’s shoulder, gazing nervously down at the stage floor far below them. The only thing holding them up at the moment was the hanging walkway behind the lights in the ceiling and honestly the creaking of the metal cables made him seriously doubt their ability to hold Eddie’s weight and his own. The surface shifted side to side slightly under their feet and even though logically Waylon knew the walkway was probably safe enough his stomach still gave a lurch. There was a reason the crew usually sent Waylon up here, after all, what with his slight frame compared to the rest of them. Could you imagine Chris Walker crawling across these old planks? Didn’t think so. 

“I didn’t know there was… a trap door there…. to the roof…” He tried not to let his voice tremble. 

“Better believe it…I’m not surprised you don’t know about it, though. I just put it in last year, I’m sure no one has noticed, since it’s painted black like the ceiling.” He seemed proud of himself, Waylon thought, as he ought to be. He wondered, too, how many other secrets there were for him to discover in this theater he’d called home all these years. Eddie had called it home much longer. 

“That’s so neat! I can’t belie- JESUS, BE CAREFUL!” Waylon cried as he was jarred back and forth with Eddie’s movements. He stepped out onto the roof and shut the trapdoor behind him with a metallic click. 

It was very dark at first, but it only took a moment for his eyes to drag across the stunning view that suddenly surrounded them. Like a castle, they were hidden behind complex stone structures bordering the uppermost edges of the roof, spires and walls that hid them from view from any onlookers on the streets below. Other than a few looming gargoyles, in the dark it was impossible to appreciate the intricate detailing that made the building famous for its antique beauty, but the barricade to the world made him feel secure nonetheless. 

Beyond the expanse of the roof his eyes were immediately drawn to the rolling hills surrounding them on all sides like sleeping giants. He had only been to the sea once; at the time he had been disappointed that his bus was late and that he ended up not arriving at the shore until dark. But once he ventured onto the sand, shoes in hand and the sand still warm from the day massaging his feet, his regrets fell away in a cascade as his eyes landed on the pitch black ocean. The endlessness of the waves rising straight from the horizon mirrored the night sky he loved so much twinkling just above, and as he sucked the salty, cool air into his lunges he had never known such peace. The quiet…and the breeze. The solitude that didn’t make him feel lonely. He looked into infinity and it looked back into him. He had liked what he’d seen, and now he felt just the same. 

Anything he could see was only by the grace of the light from the stars overhead. He felt hypnotized by them enough not to notice or quarrel as Eddie set him down on his feet. 

“They’re beautiful…” he breathed absently. 

Eddie nodded, but he’d seen plenty of the stars and he would never see enough of Waylon and so his gaze stayed focused on him. He took his hand and Waylon turned his attention back to him. 

“Why didn’t you ever take me out here before?” He grinned and squeezed his hand affectionately.

“Well, here you are.” He pulled him close and settled his hand into its natural position on Waylon’s waist as he lead them into a lazy waltz. Waylon blushed a bit and resisted, trying half-heartedly to extricate himself from the dance. 

“Oh, Eddie, no, I’m sweaty and gross, I probably stink, my hair is… I’m wearing lounge pants, it’s so not romantic.”

He smiled in loving amusement at him from behind his mask. 

“You look astounding…and your aroma is pleasant, I assure you.”

He sighed impatiently but relaxed somewhat, suppressing a smile as he allowed Eddie to pull him tighter against his body. 

“That’s not true in the slightest, but you’re a gentlemen for saying it.”

They swayed in the dark for some time in silence and continued once Waylon had finally relaxed completely into his torso, resting his cheek against his shoulder. Their fingers entwined softly while Eddie’s free hand painted slow, careless circles on his back. It was incredibly soothing…Waylon feared he’d fall asleep standing up just like this, but maybe just another few minutes would be alright. It felt so nice, snuggled up to Eddie’s heated frame and enveloped in his arms as the cool night nipped at his back. 

Eddie smiled and though he never wanted them to exist any other way he didn’t want Waylon to fall asleep just yet either so he leaned back slowly and ran his fingers through Waylon’s hair to gently rouse him. He leaned his head back and blinked up at him with sleepy, contented eyes. 

“You were too beautiful for words tonight, and your singing has greatly improved.” He gave him a playful look. “Now that your nerves have settled…”

“Hey, I never sang in front of anyone but you before, of course I was nervous.”

Eddie chuckled. “You were perfect. You could only be better in the new production…my greatest work yet.” 

Waylon felt a pang of anxiety draw him from his sleepy stupor. The upcoming production, the dissected script, it was the last thing he wanted to think about. He didn’t want to tell him, but he had to. He’d find out soon anyway, of that he had no doubt. 

“Eddie, they changed the script. Lisa-“

“I know.” His tone sharpened, but his sense of calm remained. He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe simpletons like that wouldn’t try to defy him at first, it was in their nature. He understood how weak and foolish humans were. But he was arrogant enough to know that he could remedy their behavior. There wasn’t a man on earth that didn’t have a threshold that he could break and from there they would be easy to manage; he simply had to teach them. He had done it before and he was good at it. It was a simple enough matter to take care of. 

Waylon was put off by his tone. Sensing his unease, Eddie stepped back from the embrace and began leading him away. 

“Trust me, darling…” 

Waylon did trust him. He watched as Eddie lead him over to one of the great stone structures that guarded the front of the theater. Its regal wings towered above their hands, but whether it was an angel or a demon Waylon couldn’t be sure until he saw its face. Between the wings its back sloped toward the base, concave and smooth, an excellent spot for a nap, Waylon thought with exhaustion. Eddie sat and gently coaxed Waylon down into his lap, backwards so that Waylon could lean against the cool stone and his legs would rest on either side of Eddie. He sighed contentedly, sinking into the intimate position with a smile. As tired as he was he couldn’t ignore the lewd suggestion the arrangement conveyed, but it was incredibly comfortable. He watched with a gentle gaze as Eddie held both of their hands in their laps, caressing the backs of his hands with his thumbs lightly. In the silent calm of the night they took this moment to find refuge in one another, exchanging warmth and courage without saying a word. It took some time before Eddie eventually found it necessary to speak.

“I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to be afraid.” 

His intonation made Waylon feel still yet unsettled. _You_ don’t have to be afraid. _You_ don’t, but...from the sound of it someone had something to be very afraid of. He might have been reading too much into it, but his gut told him otherwise. 

Eddie placed his hands flat against Waylon’s stomach, instantaneously dissolving the hard rock of doubt that had begun to form there and melting it into a pool of lava that seemed to flow heatedly into the rest of his body and warm him straight to his fingers and toes, making his cheeks flush. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, but didn’t protest. It felt nice. 

Any of his resistance dissipated entirely as Eddie fanned his fingers and then ran them up and down, lower than he thought he’d dare, before traveling smoothly back up to his chest. Waylon peered back at him, no longer tired. He sat up and wrapped his arms around Eddie, but Eddie clung to him roughly as if he’d tried to escape, crushing his body to him. He could tell that Eddie was restraining himself, but now that their hips were flush together he found himself wishing more than ever that he wouldn’t, for god’s sake, if that was why he was so tense. He was such a bastard. Eddie’s hands clamped onto his hips tight enough that he wondered excitedly if they would bruise. 

“Waylon,” he cooed as he buried his face against his neck. Waylon tried to focus on his own hands long enough to make them take advantage of this opportunity and cover some new ground on Eddie’s body, but it became an almost impossible task as Eddie’s lips danced across the skin of his neck. He moaned involuntarily and was glad for the way the sound was muffled into Eddie’s shoulder. Still, he could feel Eddie’s lips curve into a smirk. Damn him. Suddenly, Eddie bit down hard into the soft flesh of his neck, making him cry out in shock and pain. It hurt, he wanted to get away, but even so could feel a bit of a strain beginning in his pants that he couldn't for the life of him understand.

“Ah...! Eddie!” he protested. 

To his surprise Eddie released him and licked the tender impressions his teeth had made, but it wasn’t long before he bit him again and this time with a primal growl, and for a moment Waylon was horrified that he was actually about to come. He didn’t think he would live that down, or more like he didn’t think Eddie would let him live it down. He clung to him breathlessly and ground his hips down roughly against the hardness in Eddie’s pants. He could feel Eddie’s tongue sliding over his skin between his firmly planted teeth until finally he pulled back and kissed his neck up and down, not as if in apology, but hungrily. For a moment he feared he would bite again, but instead he felt hot, moist breath against his ear and the dangerous rumble of Eddie’s angry voice. 

“I see the way you look at him…is this what you think about him doing to you?” 

Waylon felt his blood run cold. “No, I-“ he panted, but Eddie wouldn’t hear it, he needed this slut to know what it did to him when he wasted his attention on filthy little worms, he would remind him of who he belonged to in case he had forgotten. He saw red behind his eyes as he pushed Waylon back against the stone, took his shirt between two strong hands and tore until the threads succumbed and separated, ripping apart until there was hardly enough left to call a shirt. Waylon, realizing what sort of position he’d abruptly found himself in, hadn’t thought it was possible to be as terrified as he’d ever been in his life and still have such a raging erection, but apparently it was very much possible. He trusted Eddie. He wouldn't push him passed what he could stand, he knew that, but...even so, he was very much aware that this was an incredibly dangerous situation, hell, they probably wouldn’t even find his body up here for at least a month if was wrong. 

Waylon sat up and kicked his legs as he tried to slip out from under him, but Eddie made quick work of shoving him back against the unforgiving stone surface and yanking his pants down from his hips. In almost entirely one swift motion, Waylon suddenly found himself almost entirely nude. His body was pumping with adrenaline and prickling with goosebumps as the cool night air aided Eddie in ravaging his heated flesh. 

“Eddie, wait, wait, don’t, please-!” He didn’t know what he was going to do and that was why he didn’t want him to do it, whatever it was. 

Ignored, he continued to struggle and gasp for breath as Eddie forced his legs apart. Surely he wouldn’t- 

Eddie stared at him coldly and then his head disappeared between Waylon’s legs. He flayed his arms out over Eddie’s back and dug his fingernails into his skin as much as he could with Eddie’s useless fucking shirt in the way. He didn’t understand, what in the hell did he think he- and then his vision went white as Eddie sunk his teeth into the crook between his crotch and his thigh, hard, not enough to bleed, but enough to punish and to ache and to make him writhe and whimper. It was so close to his cock, so close to where he desperately needed his mouth to be. The pain was severe and he began clawing his hands across Eddie’s broad back and shoulders, but he found the sensation unbearably erotic. Despite the cool temperature he began to sweat. And as much as he hated it he heard himself start to beg. 

“Eddie, stop, stop, that fucking hurts…!” 

Finally he released him from his jaws, licking the sensitive, burning flesh, just slightly left of the place Waylon needed him to be licking. He sobbed dryly and moaned into the open air, fuck it, who would ever hear him? He was just about to resume begging when Eddie turned his head just the slightest and ran his startling hot, wet tongue up the shaft of his cock straight to the head. He pulled back just in time to miss a face full of Waylon’s come as his fingers buried bruises into Eddie’s massive shoulders. Eddie found it immensely satisfying to hear him cry out in ecstasy and dismay as he spilled himself onto the stone underneath them. He let him catch his breath as he leaned back and observed Waylon’s mortified and shocked expression. It had happened so fast and unexpectedly. He’d been scared and eager to escape the entire time, and somehow it was if that had halved the time it normally would have taken him to get so worked up.

Once he had the presence of mind he glanced back at Eddie tentatively, but he no longer seemed angry…not enough to pose any immediate danger anyway.

Waylon diverted his gaze, embarrassed of his vulnerable state and a bit self-conscious. Anybody would be under Eddie's piercing gaze. He couldn’t remember being one-hundred percent nude in front of anyone…ever, really. It was incredibly disarming and made him feel even more shy than he normally might have felt. And besides, didn't Eddie think that, well, that his penis was...disgusting? He couldn't believe he would even do something like that, and then besides be able to stare at him now, when he was most defenseless, as if he were the most irresistible sight imaginable. Regardless of any of that, he still found himself entirely able to shoot an aggravated glare in Eddie’s direction when he heard him laugh as he stood up. He offered Waylon a hand up, but he ignored it and stood on his own before sliding his pants back on, pouting indignantly all the while. Undeterred, Eddie scooped him up into his arms once he was at least somewhat dressed. 

“Hey, I can walk you know!” 

“You must be tired…I’ll bring you home. You need to rest. You’ll have another long day tomorrow.” 

He was right, and he wasn’t too prideful to let someone carry him so he just sighed and got comfy. He couldn’t help but wonder how angry Eddie still was. There was a lingering darkness in his expression, a sense of rage and bitterness burning just below the surface like glowing embers. At least for now all was well enough that he could address it at another time when he was rested. He didn’t think Eddie was angry with him, per se; more than likely he was jealous of Miles, fearful that he would try to steal him away and enraged at the very idea that he would even consider attempting to do so. He was all he had in the world…surely he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. Waylon could understand that. As Eddie made his way to apartment, Waylon leaned in close and kissed his cheek softly as he watched his expression with a gentle gaze. He was worried about him, and after all the fighting Eddie had needed to do just to survive Waylon didn't want him to feel like he had to fight for him too. How much pain must he be in...?

“…I love you, Eddie…don’t be afraid.” 

Eddie paused just in front of the door to Waylon’s apartment and looked at him, taken aback. He stared for a moment and then every ounce of hardness in his expression dissolved before he spoke in that breathless, adoring tone that made Waylon’s heart flutter like a hummingbird.

“Darling…” He placed a sweet, but passionate kiss on Waylon’s lips that left them both smiling at one another like the lovestruck fools they were. “I’ll never let you go, darling…”

Waylon thought it sounded like both a promise and a threat, but as Eddie carried him across the threshold of his crummy apartment he thought to himself that he would gladly take either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really self-conscious about this chapter, I'm sorry if it's not good, I hope it's okay!! I'm sorry! And sorry that it took so long, I think maybe the chapter is longer than normal? Oh, I don't know. Ugh it's been rough lol hold on to your fuckin' horses, babes, you're gonna hate the next chapter ;)


	8. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has fought valiantly to protect Waylon both from outside forces and himself, but he can't hide forever. The more Waylon learns about the phantom, the closer he comes to the point of no return, but his friends aren't so keen on letting him go.

It had been so much easier to hate the world and all its filth when there didn’t exist something in that world which he wanted to protect. 

Once he had been infallible and omnipotent, encased protectively in wrath and hopelessness that made him impenetrable from the outside. He had nothing to lose and nothing to hope for, but despite the pointlessness of his life he continued to exist. And so, with nothing worth living for and therefore nothing holding him back, he made the world around him his own. He took detritus and filth and spun it into gold, creating wonders that glistened like water tangled in a spider’s web and spectacles that drew in his audience and held them captive like flies. Garnering the adoration and support of the public had never been his intention, but came they did and so he used the audience to his end. They were the backs upon which he had built his furtive empire. Every one of them disposable. Every one of them damnable and wretched, nothing more to him than maggots writhing in the rot of the world’s carcass. They fed on decay and ruin and he was glad to feed it to them, much like the poison and bullshit he’d been fed when he was small. He owed the human race nothing and had no use nor sentiment for any one of them.

Except him.

No one ever expects to exhume a diamond from a corpse. Meeting Waylon for the first time was like watching the world give birth, both ghastly and excruciatingly beautiful. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but from that point on he believed in anything that meant he and Waylon could always be together. 

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t end his meaningless life. For every second of his time thus far he’d continued on simply for the sake of continuing on. Perhaps he harbored some foolish notion that one day his life could contain happiness. In addition, Eddie had never been a religious person and had no delusions regarding the “afterlife”. At least above ground he knew that he could write, and stitch, and compose his music.

In this fashion the Phantom built his kingdom up from the dirt solely because he could.

But once his darling came to him he had the reason to live that he never wanted…’having’ meant that someone could take it away. ‘Having’ was the reason for ‘loss’.

He never intended to keep anything he couldn’t afford to lose, but somehow he had and there would be no going back.

Eddie wiped warm blood from his brow on one crisp, white sleeve as he scowled thoughtfully down at his work. He wanted children, but in times like these he couldn’t imagine how his dreams could ever come to be, not with the world being as it was. Not so long as vermin such as this infested it and although he liked to think that he’d made a significant dent in the immediate population it would never be enough to protect a family. His children would never be safe. It pained him enough to know that this bloodshed was the only feasible method of keeping Waylon safe; even then he could never stop the world from hurting him, nor could he fix the wrongs and hurt of his past. For now, his direct interference in specific matters was the best he could do. If it benefited Waylon for someone to die then he made it so. 

He regretted that Waylon would eventually have to find out about the lengths he’d gone to in order to keep him safe and happy. He would have preferred that he never have to know what a sordid hell the world was just under the surface, but a part of him always knew that such ideals were not realistic. Waylon had suffered too much already and he was too intelligent not to find out for himself one way or another. His only hope now was that Waylon could trust him to show him the beauty underneath the horror and all that they could be. 

They could be free. They could be beautiful if only Waylon would allow it. Eddie slid the tip of his knife under the warm skin with the precise, well-practiced hand of a surgeon. He paused, assuring that his alignment was correct then he gripped the handle tightly in both hands and used the weight of his own body to wrench a separation between the ribs. With the wet pop of tearing cartilage and the moist crack of bone under flesh his task was complete. He slipped the knife from the fresh pocket he’d created in the chest cavity and wiped it on his shirt with a distracted sigh. In a month’s time, this would prove the perfect method of completion for the grisly performance he had in store if his hand was forced.

Regrettably, Waylon would be most displeased. 

Eddie smirked to himself with woeful amusement as he began repositioning the knife between the final two, bottom-most ribs. 

“Ah, well…the show must go on, as they say…” 

_Pop._

 

 

 

Miles was the most dedicated and persistent person he’d ever met. He’d always thought that besides being very talented, his knack for landing prominent roles probably had a lot to do with the fact that he was…well, his body was slim and toned, strong, but sleek like a compact predator. He wore the right clothes to show off his physique in a way that still said “I don’t give a shit what I look like, in fact I may have slept in this shirt,” and he styled his hair in a way that just wasn’t fair, Waylon could never, ever in a million years make his hair look like that. He always knew how to smile just so; there was the manicured smile, the purposeful smile both nonchalant and deadly, but it was the truly careless, mischievous smile and twinkling eyes that made Waylon’s knees weak.

‘Stop it, stop it, what’s the matter with you, Waylon Park? Angry! Focus on staying angry!’ He paced in his living room clutching the bouquet of roses in his fist tight enough to strangle the life out of them, no, it was not because he was society’s standard of attractive that Miles was so successful and popular. He affirmed this thought to himself as he continued to fume and drag his treacherous mind kicking and screaming away from the thought of Miles’ unfortunate ability to make him melt. 

No, knowing him better, he knew for sure that it wasn’t his looks, although they certainly helped, but when it came down to it hunky guys that thought they could act were a dime a dozen. 

‘And,’ he argued defensively as if someone in his living room had dared to contradict him, ‘he isn’t even that attractive, I mean he’s not Eddie. He’s a bit skinny in fact…hunk’s not exactly the first word that comes to mind actually, now that I think about it. Not at all, more like…like pretty, or handsome, or smooth, but not hunk.’ Having sufficiently scolded himself and defended Eddie’s honor, Waylon continued along his initial train of thought.

It had to be pure determination that had pushed Miles straight to the top where he now resided, teetering on one leg, but firmly in place in his role as “that really hot guy we saw in that amazing show, I would do ANYTHING to get his autograph!” 

A compliment? Ohhh no, no no no, Waylon wasn’t complimenting the brat, he was _cursing_ his very being, that damnably perfect _ass_ , did he even know the meaning of the word no? He took the bouquet of flowers he’d received that morning and threw them straight. in. the. trash. It was as much because he was aggravated by Miles’ attempts to woo him into complacency as it was that he was worried that Eddie would be incited to violence by the flagrant display of romantic attention. He then proceeded to burn the note that came with the flowers, not out of anger, but per Miles’ request, in the sink, with the window cracked open to prevent the smoke detector from going off. 

As he watched the corners of the pristine parchment blacken and curl he could still make out the words written there. His gaze couldn’t help but rake across them, reciting them again in his mind, like looking into a bright light that remained burned into his retinas even when he closed his eyes. 

Waylon.  
I don’t take that masked chump and his threats seriously, but if his bite is worth its bark then I don’t want you around for the performance at the end of this month. Tell you what, I will book us a trip, a long term vacation, for anywhere you want to go, if you promise me you’ll drop that prick like a rock. Eddie is BAD NEWS, he is a MURDERER and he is going to get you killed and god knows what else. You really wanna be his little plaything forever? Come by the hospital this weekend so we can talk. Tacos on me. RSVP me so I know it’s a date.  
Miles.  
Ps. burn the note. 

What the heck kind of date was that? He was trying to give Miles’ words of caution the benefit of the doubt and consider their well-meaning intention, but it just came off to him as jealous, petty, and above all paranoid. He had no concrete proof Eddie was into anything nefarious and yet he was stamping him with accusations like murderer? Maybe he would start taking him seriously when Miles started taking Waylon’s feelings about Eddie seriously. He scoffed as he washed the ashes down the drain, eyeing the black fragments of paper as if they'd done him a personal wrong.

His phone pinged insistently. He contemplated not checking it, but…

Did you get the flowers? - 

Waylon rolled his eyes and sighed. 

You could have just texted me and asked me to visit. -

From his hospital bed Miles scowled at his phone in displeasure before typing violently back.

I was being romantic or whatever. -

Waylon giggle-snorted and leaned back against his kitchen counter.

ohhh okay Romeo. By trash talking my

My…my…boyfriend? Date? Lover? No, definitely not lover, ugh. Whatever.

ohhh okay Romeo. By trash talking Eddie and demanding I visit you? -

You don’t want to visit your best friend in the hospital? :’( - 

Waylon sighed again.

I’ll come see you this weekend for pity’s sake only, but we are NOT talking about Eddie. We are not “eloping” or w/e you want to call it. And you are going to buy me an entire pyramid of soft tacos or I will walk right out that door. -

Miles grinned. Success. If he could get Waylon in the door he didn’t doubt his ability to get him talking about the important stuff. Despite his adorable threats, he doubted Waylon would walk out on a guy with, for all intents and purposes, one leg. 

It’s a date ;) don’t tell the masked guerrilla, he might drag you away and hold you hostage on top of a sky scraper somewhere.- 

Fuck you. -

Miles had just begun to formulate a response that was appeasing yet didn’t contain a false apology when he got a second text, one that made him smile. 

See you Saturday. -

Waylon set his phone on the kitchen counter and heaved another sigh, rubbing his hands over his face like maybe he could sculpt it into a less sullen expression if he kept at it. Having two psychotic boyfriends was a lot of work. At least having a minor role in the show meant less work for him and more time to concentrate on his increasingly menacing and ridiculous personal life, but things weren’t exactly coming up roses. He glanced at the trash bin. Well, okay, literally they were coming up roses, but all puns aside. Eddie would also expect him to continue rehearsing on their own time since, of course, in his mind Waylon would be the star or there would be no show.

How the hell was he going to get this to work? 

When his phone started ringing he was tempted to chuck it in the bin with the roses, maybe it would enjoy them more than he had, but he refrained from such a temper tantrum even if his brick of a phone probably would have been fine anyway. He snatched the device and slammed it to his ear. 

“Miles, I said I’d _be_ there, now would you fucking-” A girlish giggle in his ear...what? 

“Having boy troubles?” Lisa’s voice chirped through the phone. Waylon’s cheeks blossomed instantly with color.

“Oh- oh! Lisa! I’m sorry, I…Miles is, he- how did you get my number?” Why was it that Lisa always had him stuttering like a kid again? It wasn’t as if he’d ever had a crush on her, but she was just intimidating. Self-assured people usually had that effect on him.

“You gave it to me last season, remember?” 

He didn’t remember. Lisa was the prettiest, toughest, most confident, and smartest girl he knew. He’d probably thrown it at her on a piece of paper backstage in a fit of nervous syllables he’d concocted haphazardly in an effort to befriend her, but he couldn’t recall doing so now. Maybe he would later when he anxiously replayed this phone call in his mind, probably when he was trying to sleep.

“Oh…oh, yeah. Yeah, I remember. I think. Uh, hi.” He moved to stand by the window and let the outside air cool the warmth in his face. At least Lisa sounded like she was smiling. 

“Hi, Waylon.” She laughed, not unkindly. “How’s it going? Do I need to beat up Miles again?” 

He chuckled and although he’d like to see that he said, “No, no, he’s just being his normal…obnoxious self. I’m okay, just…uh,” he looked around, feeling a bit lost, “…just…tidying up in the kitchen, how about you?”

Lisa grinned. “I’m good. I was just thinking about the casting switch and everything, it had me thinking about you. Are you upset about not getting the lead this season? Sorry if that’s kind of forward, but…” She sounded genuinely concerned and he admired her ability to keep any humor about the situation out of her tone. The lead had been a female role technically after all. 

“No, no, I’m not upset…I didn’t really wanna wear a dress on stage anyway, that’d be weird…” He chuckled to inject a more casual tone into the statement than he actually felt, given the imminent nature of the situation and the way it still hung over his head. 

“I don’t know, I think it would look good on you. You know I think gender’s just a cultural construct anyway, Waylon, you being cute wouldn’t change just because you put a dress on.” 

He’d probably have to bury his head into a bucket of ice to take the redness out of his face now.

“Oh…I…thanks, Lisa…” he muttered shyly. 

“No problem. You’re probably busy and god knows I’m busy, but…I mean, we’re going to be in the theater a lot together since our roles are so intertwined and we’ve only hung out like, twice, so do you think you’d like to hang out some time? Doesn’t have to be a big to-do or anything.”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, definitely, let’s do it. Uh. What should we…yah know, do?” 

“You can come over my place if you like. Or we could go out for dinner, drinks, maybe get some take out for Miles or somethin’…”

Even though Waylon suddenly found himself being slowly crushed under social pressure and bashfulness, he couldn’t suppress a warm, excited sensation from creeping up on him at the idea of just getting out of the theater and doing something…ordinary, with someone he genuinely liked, as a friend, with no weird romantic tension. It had been ages since he’d done anything like that. 

“I’d really love to, Lisa, that sounds awesome. Let’s do it. Miles is kidnapping me on Saturday and he promised to buy me tacos, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind us all getting together.” And it would be the perfect excuse to avoid any discussion about Eddie. Bingo. 

“That’s a fabulous idea! Maybe we should drag some of the rest of the cast along to visit him too? I wonder how many people are allowed in the room during visiting hours…”

“I dunno, I can check, but I doubt the nurses would deny Miles anything.” Another brilliant idea suddenly struck him. “How about we invite Chris?” 

“Aw, I love him, yeah. What about Billy?”

“Yeah, and maybe Dennis…that’s a good looking crowd.” 

“You said it, Way.” A pause, and then hesitantly, “Is it okay if we meet beforehand too, just the two of us? It’s not like I wanna talk about anything in particular, but…I don’t know, just some bud time for us?” 

He was unexpectedly touched that Lisa would want to see him, without any other motivations for spending time together other than to be together. 

“That’s perfect.”

“Fab, so you wanna come over here at like, six o’clock?”

“Sounds good.”

“Nice…I’ll let you go then, see yah on Saturday, hun.”

“See yah, Lisa, take care.” 

He stood for a while in his kitchen recomposing himself before his thoughts focused back to Miles and the conversation they’d had earlier. He hoped…he wouldn’t be mad, would he? That he’d invited Lisa and the rest along on their mockery of a date? Sometimes it was incredibly difficult to tell when Miles was joking and when he wasn’t. Many things that were actually important to him tended to be disguised as a joke or an off-handed sarcastic remark. Maybe one of the things that made it so easy for them to be friends was that usually Waylon was good at telling the difference.

He paced through his tiny kitchen, his brow creased in anxiety and concentration. He couldn’t go on a date with Miles anyway, he was, in some nontraditional, ominous but entirely legitimate way, “with” Eddie. They were “together”. He wouldn’t say they were a couple per se, possibly just because the term sounded much too innocent to assign to their…situation. Simple. Uncomplicated. Romance and commitment between two people. They had those things, possibly even an excess of them, but…

He was tired of thinking about it frankly. It was as if up until now he’d expected that if he simply thought about Eddie enough all their problems would vanish, but no matter how many sleepless nights he dedicated to the subject he always found the two of them in the same place the next day. And really, anyway, the matter at hand was whether or not _Miles_ had grasped the depth of Waylon’s feelings for Eddie. He never meant to lead him on; he did entertain a bit of a crush on him in the past, enough to initially agree to go on a date with him. All their dynamics had changed since then, drawing Waylon closer to Eddie in a way he wasn’t even sure was _healthy_ anymore, but it was possible that Miles still saw that first hypothetical date as encouragement to pursue him. Did he really ever think they could date seriously so long as Eddie was in the picture? Or perhaps that was just it. After all, Miles never wanted Eddie in the picture, romantically or otherwise. 

The thought should have made him angry, but instead he only found a sick lump of guilt and pity in his stomach. Miles would never get what he wanted.

Waylon rubbed the back of his neck and winced as his palm ran over the still fading bruise there…jesus…couldn’t Eddie just leave a hickey like a normal person? The mark from the bite was almost gone, leaving a mild soreness deep in the muscle and a faint mulberry hue to the surface of his skin. Over the past week he’d heard very little from Eddie. Although he was certain it was due to his obsession over the upcoming show, he couldn’t help but worry about what else he might be getting into. 

Worse still than the constant tension of feeling hunted wherever he went was the feeling of wistfulness that trailed faithfully behind his every movement like a loyal lap dog at his feet. It wasn’t healthy for him to feel the way he did without Eddie, but every room he went into seemed hollow without him in it. At times he was aware of his presence lingering somewhere in the darkness and it softened the separation, but as much as he tried to hike up his big girl panties and get a grip on himself he _still_ wanted Eddie there regardless of anything else. No matter how much Miles berated him or cast disapproving sideways glances his way, no matter how busy he was on or behind the stage, and regardless of the fear that still crept into his subconsciousness when they were alone together, his lovesick ponderings never faltered. 

He wondered what Lisa would think about his relationship with Eddie. He had a feeling that a strong woman like her would disapprove of what he considered a codependence, even abuse.

‘It’s not though, really,’ he told himself defensively, ‘I do things by myself, I enjoy spending time with people besides him, I like my alone time, but I just…’ He sighed heavily and paced into the living room, wringing his hands. ‘I just…would _prefer_ it…if he were here with me…’ A glance around his messy apartment emphasized that until it made him ache. He eyed the plain, frumpy couch, wobbly coffee table, and excessive empty floor space with disdain. It was a very sad comparison to the type of home he imagined Eddie kept, although technically, he had to admit, he’d never actually been in any sort of home of Eddie’s. He lived in the theater, but he couldn’t live in the warehouse and he certainly didn’t sleep in his workshop. There wasn’t even a space to sit, so then where did he spend the rest of his time?

‘Probably stalking me,’ he scoffed with a lop-sided frown and crossed his arms tightly over his chest…

As soon as he found himself smiling instead of frowning at the idea of Eddie stalking him he resolved to tell Lisa about Eddie. He needed a second opinion. 

With every passing second that brought Lisa closer to his doorstep, Waylon became more and more anxious. God, even when he’d had a major crush on Miles in the beginning he didn’t think he would have been this nervous to have him over his apartment! It was just so ordinary and…embarrassingly personal, he hardly ever had guests over, and Miles disapproved of everything anyway so that would have been fine, but Lisa. She had excellent taste in everything from clothes to friends and everything in between and it all seemed so effortless. He didn’t idolize her, he knew she wasn’t perfect, but that was what made her perfect. She was so many things that Waylon wanted to be and picturing her inside his humble abode was almost more than he could bare. What if she hated it? What if it made her uncomfortable? She would never say anything either and that was worse because he wouldn’t even know and then he’d keep worrying and worrying and worrying and- 

Shit, the doorbell, jesus christ- Waylon rushed to the door and yanked it open and- 

“EDDIE, what, is there- did…uhhh…!” His pounding heart leapt into his throat as soon as his eyes met the buttons of Eddie’s dress shirt instead of Lisa’s eyes. He tilted his head back to stare up at him in shock and alarm.

“Darling,” he gushed as he drank in the sight of him. Waylon stared back at a loss for words, noticing appreciatively the way Eddie completely filled the door frame with his towering structure. He was panicking completely, but somehow his body betrayed him yet again by finding the time to respond to Eddie’s proximity. He could already steadily feel the temperature of his skin rising against his will and a smile tugging mutinously at his lips.

It didn’t occur to Waylon to invite him in until Eddie closed the space between them and they were close enough to kiss. His breath hitched and with discipline he didn’t know he had he backed away quickly, grabbed Eddie’s wrist and yanked him through the door. He slammed it behind them then turned to Eddie wearing a frantic expression.

“What the heck are you doing here? Lisa’s going to be here any moment and you…!”

“Oh, is she? Perhaps I ought to meet her,” he teased, entirely unconcerned.

“N-no way, that’s a terrible idea! Quit being such a trouble maker, Eddie, what am I supposed to do if she shows up and you’re still here?”

He chuckled light-heartedly, but gave Waylon a sympathetic smile as he moved closer, placed a hand on his shoulder, and kissed his temple with the tenderest demeanor imaginable. 

“You’re very cute…you don’t have to worry so much, darling, don’t you know I’ll take care of everything? I won’t be long, I just wanted to give you these.” He pulled an enormous bouquet of roses, black roses, out from behind his back, seemingly from thin air. Waylon’s mouth fell open in surprise and awe. 

“How did you…” He paused before taking them slowly. He smiled brightly and buried his nose into the soft flower petals like a fawn nuzzling a clump of clovers. “Were you jealous because Miles sent me flowers?” He hoped, along with concealing his face in the bouquet, that he could keep enough smugness out of his voice to hide how pleased he was. Eddie could be such a petulant child sometimes and he didn’t want to encourage that behavior, or the stalking, and least of all his resentful competition with Miles, but at the same time some twisted part of him felt greatly appeased by the jealous gesture. It coupled his own obsessive tendencies nicely.

While it seemed as if Eddie was mostly responsible for their poisonous dynamic, in all honesty, between the two of them it wasn’t clear who’s desires were more twisted. Was Eddie anymore wrong than him when he enjoyed his supposedly toxic behavior so much? Other people couldn’t understand…no one in their right mind would “enjoy” being stalked, not by a stranger at least or someone that truly sought to bring them harm, but when Eddie did it Waylon thought it was…romantic? Cute? God, that was so fucked up, he could never say it out loud and even if he did what would he say? He imagined trying to explain it to Miles. _‘One time Eddie strangled me sort of, but it’s okay because it was really hot actually. Also he stalks me pretty much constantly, but it’s kind of nice cause we can’t live together yet and I like that he’s obsessed with me anyway.’_ Oh yeah, that’d go really well. 

In the end the problem was that he knew Eddie could destroy him, but he couldn’t do anything about it because he simply wasn’t willing to do anything about it. For now he just had to conceal how selfish and dangerous his desires really were, especially from Eddie. He had to at least pretend to be the rational one, right?

Eddie didn’t seem to have expected Waylon to accuse him of the truth; he often brought Waylon flowers, but these were clearly specifically for the purpose of trumping Miles’ bouquet. He looked surprised and then, to Waylon’s awe and delight, shy, although simultaneously incredibly indignant. 

“Perhaps…” He watched Waylon carefully as he looked over the dark bouquet in amazement, trying to determine whether or not and how much the truth might upset him. “Do you… like them?”

Waylon could have sworn Eddie sounded insecure. While he didn’t want him to feel insecure it was endearing as hell to watch him outwardly struggle with vulnerability. He smiled at him then stood on his tip toes, slung an arm around his neck, and planted a heartfelt kiss on his cheek. 

“I love them, Eddie, they’re the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen. I hope I have a vase big enough, there’s so many, let me see…” He hurried to the kitchen to see what he could do while Eddie trailed behind. The two of them, by chance, had never really spent any length of time together in Waylon’s kitchen. It was cramped and odd looking, forced to become a kitchen from the old storage rooms of the theater, but it was cozy too and contained countless marks of Waylon’s personality. He had a chalkboard on his fridge where he’d drawn a cute little robot beside the messy outline of his rehearsal schedule. Magnets of all kinds littered the rest of the fridge: a magnetic USB, prose magnets that he’d arranged to say, “where did you hide my pants”, souvenirs from Eastern State Penitentiary, the museum of natural history, and the local nonprofit children’s science center, as well as at least a dozen others. His kitchen as a whole was very tidy, contained a number of atypical cooking supplies that blatantly showcased his affinity for cooking, and it was sunny and brightly colored like his personality.

Despite the fact that no one would ever mistake Waylon’s kitchen for a room in any house of Eddie’s he truly loved everything about it. In fact Eddie could not have found any place more pleasing. It was an ideal place to watch Waylon busy about in the sort of domestic setting he always dreamed of. Seeing him now in person as he arranged the roses on the table he could easily picture him wearing an apron as he pulled a casserole out of the oven, set the table, washed the floor on his hands and knees…he smiled softly to himself and let out a heavy but contented sigh. He would give anything to one day have a home of their own where they could be together always…one day soon, as soon as Waylon was ready.

Waylon stopped at the kitchen table after placing the roses and arranging them carefully; he seemed to have forgotten Lisa’s impending arrival for the time being. Now his hands were frozen over the flowers as he caught Eddie’s gaze burning a hole through him. He held his breath, wondering what Eddie could possibly be thinking about to cause his face to look like that: so serious, sad, and yet at the same time content? He cleared his throat in an attempt to rid himself of his sudden shyness and looked back at the flowers determinedly.

“Yeah, uh…these are wonderful, Eddie, thank you. You’re very sweet, you didn’t have to…” 

Eddie was making it very difficult for him to form enough conscious thought to finish his sentence. As Waylon attempted to thank him, Eddie insisted upon sliding up against him and backing him into the edge of the kitchen table. He didn’t really have time for this, he really should…his eyes darted to the clock over Eddie’s shoulder. He had three minutes, unless maybe she happened to be late? He could afford to take his time thanking Eddie properly for the flowers, couldn’t he? He may have been able to persuade himself into righteousness, but his menial efforts were for naught as soon as he saw the loving smile on Eddie’s face. Waylon went in for the kill and stole a vicious kiss while pressing against his muscular frame in a way that was indulgent enough to make them both blush.

To hell with it. He could have kicked Eddie out, he should have kicked Eddie out, it would have been the polite thing to do for Lisa’s sake, but any thoughts of her or anything else for that matter currently occupied very little space in his brain; that space proceeded to shrink entirely into nothing as Eddie planted his hands on his hips and lifted him up to sit on the edge of the kitchen table. In addition to inadvertently deepening the kiss, the repositioning allowed Waylon to be almost eye level with Eddie, therefore giving him the height he needed to be more aggressive. A faint voice in the back of his head whispered that he’d had something important to attend to just as he wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist, but he ignored it.

It wasn’t just that he’d missed him. It wasn’t just that he was horny either. It was just that…they were trying to take him away from Eddie. Miles, Lisa, Trager and Frank, everyone wanted to separate them. Life itself seemed to desire them apart. He wanted to prove them wrong. He wanted to defy them and by all accounts it was an act of rebellion.

Encouraged by Waylon’s sudden enthusiasm and being the gentlemen that he was, Eddie decided to make him more comfortable. Waylon made a soft high-pitched sound as he felt strong hands sliding up the back of his thighs, squeezing, and lifting him into the air to support his weight almost entirely on their own. He responded by promptly sighing an earnest moan into Eddie’s mouth and sinking back into the kiss like the surrender of sailor to a siren’s song as it dragged him under the waves. 

It only took a minute or two for Waylon to get himself so riled up that he began to wish he hadn’t put the vase on the table where it currently rested in the line of fire and exactly where Waylon intended to end up sprawled on his back if he had anything to say about it. For possibly the first time ever in their relationship Eddie was entirely not to blame for their current predicament, technically speaking.

As they pulled apart gasping Eddie growled into his ear, “I’ve never seen you quite so enthusiastic, darling. I had no idea you were so promiscuous.” 

Waylon scoffed breathlessly. “ _Promiscuous_ …what does that make you?”

Point taken, Eddie refocused his attention smugly on Waylon’s neck where he lingered, reveling in the sounds he could ring from his squirming form. Eddie had always been a talented instrumentalist. 

When they were face to face again Waylon looked at him panting and smiling like an idiot. 

“Eddie…I love you…”

“I love you with all I am, darling.” 

With fire in his eyes he opened Waylon’s shirt with a hard yank and began kissing up and down his neck hungrily once again, moving lower now. In response Waylon hooked his fingers into Eddie’s bow tie and tugged until it loosened from his neck and fell away. He wanted to use this as an opportunity to see a little bit more of the man he’d sold his soul to, but removing anything short of his bow tie soon became unmanageable as he set him back down on the table and gently nudged his legs open. He obediently spread them wider for him and was rewarded with the feeling of Eddie’s fingertips traveling delicately up between his thighs. He had to settle for gripping at the back of his neck as his other hand balled senselessly in his shirt.

He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d decided to do it. The exact moment that it occurred to him in his mind was just a blur of darkness and heat and the delicious sound of Eddie kissing his neck, by all accounts he hadn’t _decided_ to do it at all, but as they tore each others’ clothes away he took Eddie’s face in his hands and as they looked at each other panting, he slipped his fingers under his mask…and pulled it away, just as easy as it was to run his fingers through his hair…

There was a sudden flurry of movement and Waylon found himself face to face with the kitchen tile. Eddie’s voice was far away now across the room and he was screaming unlike anything he’d ever heard. He pushed himself up into a sitting position as quickly as he could, but he was too shocked to move. 

“DAMN YOU! You vicious little _whore_ , you FUCKING HEARTLESS SLUT! Why, darling, _why_ would you do this to me? You ungrateful shit! You’re just like all the rest, you’re just another _filthy whore_! I would have loved you always, but now you…” He cried out in agonized rage and clutched at his face as he doubled over by the window, gripping white-knuckled at the sill. 

“Damn you…! Curse you…!” As he stood frozen and hunched on the opposite side of the kitchen like a grotesque gargoyle, Waylon very slowly and carefully inched himself into a crouching position, panting quietly, blood potent with adrenaline. Why, why had he done it? He knew he might have to run. Out-running Eddie could be his only option, and so he gauged the proximity of the door in his peripherals, measuring his chances, but not moving an inch.

Suddenly Eddie spun around, towering over him with a wild fury in his face that made Waylon’s insides freeze over. The mania in his expression told Waylon there would be no reasoning with him, no, he wasn’t Eddie, he was the demon he’d spent all his time and effort on suppressing in Waylon’s presence. The once hidden portion of his face had been revealed and he could see it clear as day; it was horribly scarred and woven with thick, dark veins, painful looking and stricken with red, jagged flesh, raised like mountains strewn across a hellish landscape. Most terrifying of all was his one damaged eye. He hadn’t been able to see its true color through the dark mesh in the eye socket of his mask, but now he saw that everything that ought to be white was a shocking, bloody red…but even so inside of that massacre he saw the clear blue he knew so well. 

“Is this what you wanted to see? Am I just as revolting as in your nightmares? Damn you…darling.… _whore_!” He began to close the gap between them, taking long, slow strides across the kitchen. Waylon cowered…he cowered like a helpless child, he should have run, why wouldn’t his body move? He couldn’t stop staring at his face, the monstrous and the familiar contorted in rage and pain, all focused on him and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of the tears running down his scars. How could he leave, how could he leave when Eddie was in so much pain and it was his fault, and where would he go? Even if he got away he knew he would never escape.

“I trusted you, I loved you and protected you and this is how you repay me? I never wanted you to see this, NEVER!” When they were not but a yard apart he sank onto his knees before Waylon as all the rage seemed to slowly drain out of him. “I could have protected you from this, from seeing the repulsive monster that I am, my broken soul. You would have never had to know…to see…what a wretched demon I’ve become, we could have been beautiful, we could have - you could still learn to love me instead of fear me, Waylon, darling, I only want to love you, I just wanted…..darling…” He turned away with an air of despair and defeat as if he’d truly lost something precious he could never regain. There were no more secrets now. Waylon only separated the mask from the man, but Eddie was the one that freed the monster and as soon as he saw the terror in his darling’s eyes he knew he’d made the one fatal error he hoped never to make.

Although he empathized with Eddie he could never really understand what it was like to be him. He didn’t know the entirety of his past, but he knew enough to insinuate that he’d been abandoned and abused time and time again. The way he looked didn’t change Waylon’s opinion of him, but how could he possibly know that when it had chased away so many others? He got the feeling there was more to it than just what he saw on the surface. In some way Eddie had sought to protect him from something by hiding his face, and although he doubted that to be true clearly Eddie thought otherwise. He didn’t understand, but…

That was when he realized that he was still holding the mask. He’d forgotten. He glanced at it quickly, but kept his eyes mostly on Eddie; he was unpredictable and even though for some reason Waylon never thought he would hurt him, he always did. He’d learned to be cautious. 

Carefully, he bridged the distance between them, crawling across the kitchen tile that had suddenly become a mine field. He held out the mask to him and waited in the deafening silence. After a while Eddie gently took it. Just as Waylon released a soft sigh of relief there was a loud rapping at the front door that caused Waylon to jump nearly out of his skin. Immediately following, he felt a lurch in his gut like a battering ram to the stomach. 

“…Lisa…!” he gasped in horror. His eyes flicked in alarm to Eddie and he tried to gauge where they were; was he still angry, was he violent, what would he do now? The point was _he was still here_. What was he supposed to do?!

He needed only a moment’s debate before he jumped to his feet, deciding to take the risk of throwing Eddie into another fit. He scurried for the kitchen door, but Eddie grabbed him around the waist on the way out, pinned him against the wall, and pressed his hand over his mouth just in time to smother his cry of panic and struggle.

With his mask back in place he leaned in and whispered fiercely, “Get rid of her.” 

Waylon stared at him fearfully and nodded. There was another knock on the door. 

“Waylon? It’s Lisa! Yoo hoo!” 

Eddie let him go. Freedom in hand, he jogged breathlessly to the front door and opened it about a foot. Lisa broke out into a relieved grin, but it faded rapidly as Waylon spoke.

“Oh! Ah! Lisa, I’m sorry, I…there was an emergency with a friend and the time got away from me and I…” He tried to keep his voice from shaking, but the adrenaline hadn’t quite made its way out of his system yet. It was readily apparent to her that he was distressed.

“Uh-oh, oh god, are you okay? Is your friend alright?” Lisa’s eyes were wide with worry, but mostly for him. She forgot about her intention to apologize immediately for being late. She probably should have anticipated that Trager and Frank would catch her on the way over, but when it wasn’t a matter of life or death she frequently lost track of time.

“…Waylon, you look white as ghost…”

“Oh, yeah, j-just…a bit shaken, that’s all, uh…” His eyes widened in panic as he heard Eddie’s footsteps coming towards them. “UM, lemme just…!” He stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. He tried to look less guilty than he felt. 

“Oh sorry, your friend’s still here? Gosh, I have bad timing, don’t I?” She realized just how bad her timing was when her eyes furtively caught sight of the opened buttons and disheveled state of his shirt, and…were those teeth marks…?

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s not your fault! I mean, we’re supposed to…meet now and all, it’s alright! Uh, just.. he’s… staying over my place for a while until things settle down at home for him and…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain, but is there anything I can do? We’ll reschedule, don’t worry.” Lisa was so kind. He smiled slightly and he meant it. 

“Ah, no, not really, uh…” He paused, biting his lip. “Actually, could you…grab the rest of the gang and head over to the hospital? And grab some tacos on your way? I’m really, _really_ sorry, I’ll meet you there, but I just…have some things I need to take care of first.” 

“Yeah, no problem, Way, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it and we’ll see you there?”

The doorknob turned behind him and the door slowly began creeping open. The sound sent a shock of panic up Waylon’s spine. He backed towards the door frantically, trying to slip back into his apartment through the smallest crack possible. He gestured the half of him that was inside the apartment wildly at Eddie in an effort to subdue him, clearly he was just fucking with him; Waylon certainly was his favorite toy. Lisa was watching him with an open-mouthed, bewildered expression.  “Uhhh…are you…?”

“YES, yes, totally fine!! Thanks Lisa I’ll see you there okay bye!” Eddie had grabbed him by the wrist and was pulling him back into the apartment. He barely had enough time to squeak out the end of his sentence through the crack in the door as it shut and as soon as it did Eddie grabbed two fistfuls of the front of his shirt and shoved him back against the door with a thump. It rang a small gasp from Waylon as he suddenly became aware of the boner that somehow hadn't been persuaded to leave. Eddie didn’t quite look angry, rather mischievous, stoic as ever but still Waylon could see the smirk toying impishly at the corner of his lips. He stared up at him with a hot, hazy expression, his mind concocting pleasant images of him asking Eddie to grab him again and slam him into the wall _twice_ as hard, but instead he froze and held his breath, hoping that if he made as little sound as possible Lisa would be prompted to leave. Unfortunately, she found the silence that followed at least twice as suspicious.

“Waylon! Are you alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, it’s fine, just…AH!” He crowed in surprise and unexpected pleasure as Eddie grabbed him tightly between the legs. He struggled a bit, mortified, and tried to shove him off, banging his palms against his chest angrily. He was going to _kill_ him when Lisa left. 

“Waylon!” Lisa sounded angry now, with the idea in mind that perhaps it was violence rather than a lover that had Waylon so out of sorts. She hoped it wasn’t the case for Waylon’s sake, and her own, because she really didn’t feel like having “assault and battery” on her record. “I’m coming in, okay?” The doorknob started to turn, but Eddie’s hand was already there squeezing it tightly. Her grip was no match for his and after she tried for a while with no results she stood back and banged on the door. The only response she got what the lock clicking into place.

“Let me in! What’s going on? Do you need help, should I get someone?” If it weren’t Eddie, if it were anyone else, Waylon knew Lisa wouldn’t really need any help, she was being modest. Certainly she’d storm in there, kick ass, and drag out her damsel in distress if she thought he was in trouble. That is, if she could get in the door. 

“Noooo no no no, Lisa, I got it! I got it just- _jesus christ, cut it out, you fucking_ …my friend’s just being an a-AHH…. _ass_ hole….tell M-miles I sa-AH!” She heard shuffling and a thump like wood on flesh. “..I said h-h-…hi!” 

She stared at the door for a long moment, cogs turning, before she took out her phone. She started dialing as she headed back out to her car. It only rang once before Miles picked up on the other end. 

“Hey, Lisa, what’s up, lady?” He sounded sleepy.

“Miles, something’s wrong with Waylon. Possibly.” Her tone was unusually serious. Miles’ heart nearly stopped. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“He’s okay, I think. We were supposed to hang out now, but he has a weird friend at his house. Said it was some kind of emergency, but…does Waylon have, like.. a boyfriend or something that you know of?” There was a long pause and then her ear almost blew out. She could hardly understand what Miles was saying through the speaker he was yelling so loudly. 

“WHAT, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, WHAT HAPPENED? WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT, A BOYFRIEND? WHO IS IT? IS HE OKAY?” 

“JESUS, Miles, CHILL, what’s wrong with you? Relax, it just sounded like, I don’t know, he didn’t sound hurt or whatever, aggravated and kinda nervous, but I think maybe they were just being kinky, you know?” 

“NO, NO I DO NOT KNOW, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU-“ 

“MILES SHUT THE FUCK UP.” She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes as she plopped into the front seat of her car heavily. What a fucking drama queen. “I think they were canoodling on the other side of the door, I just wanted to make _sure_ and let you know in case I was wrong. Are you jealous or something?”

“I am NOT jealous, why the hell would I be jealous of that big, stupid, ugly piece a-“

“Alright, Miles, see you soon!” She hung up and chucked her phone into the passenger’s seat with a look of utter exasperation on her face, though comforted by the fact that Miles already seemed to be aware of Waylon’s guy. She had no idea he’d been seeing anyone. As she turned out of the parking lot she muttered under he breath, “These boys, I swear to god Miles is at least half the reason all my dates are women nowadays…”

 

 

 

She had stopped to pick up enough Mexican food to feed a small army, so by the time Lisa arrived at the hospital everyone was already there. She walked into Miles’ room to the sight of him belted to the bed by the wrist and guarded by Chris Walker’s hulking, belt-less form. Dennis and Billy were sitting in two mildly uncomfortable looking hospital chairs and chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world…and she had to admit they were kinda right. Miles, meanwhile, had just about the most pronounced pout she’d ever seen in her life. He was hunched over in his bed, nestled in the white linen, and determinedly crushed into the bed as far from Chris as possible. 

As soon as she walked in Chris stood up with a heartfelt grin on his face pointed her way. 

“Lisa! Good to see you.”

She knew he meant it, but she smirked at him knowingly. “Are you happy to see me or the food?” she teased.

He sat back down with a shy chuckle. “Yes.” Lisa giggled and pulled a chair over to the group, grabbed the table on wheels by Miles’ bedside, sat down the bag of food, and started handing out tacos. 

“What’d he do this time?”

“When I got here the nurse at the desk told me Miles’ seemed to have ‘escaped’ and security was currently searching for him. I caught him attempting to disarm the alarm on a fire exit door in the basement before he got any further. Technically they can’t restrain him, so the nurses are doing me a favor and looking the other way.” She could just see him leaning on the desk at the nurse’s station, charming the old biddies with those big blue eyes.

“Miles, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. What were you thinking?” She chucked a taco at him, followed by a couple of packets of hot sauce. He caught the taco but just glared at her as one sauce bounced off his chest and the other bounced off his forehead.

“I was thinking that Waylon’s in danger and none of you idiots will let me help him! How can I even eat at a time like this?” he ranted as he unwrapped the taco and shoved it in his mouth. I mean, he couldn’t rescue Waylon on an empty stomach, let’s not be ridiculous now. 

Billy leaned in closer as he picked at a taco salad with his plastic fork, looking serious as well as curious. “What do you mean he’s in danger? Is he really, Lisa?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. My theory is that he has a boyfriend and Miles is jealous.”

“I am _not_ jealous! And he’s not his boyfriend!” 

She stopped eating and looked at him hesitantly. “He’s not?” 

Miles sort of…cringed as he tried to formulate his response in the most convincing half-truth he could come up with.

“I mean…no? Not really, he’s not his _boyfriend_ exactly, more like…friends…I guess. Look, I don’t know but that’s not the point!” He pointed his plastic knife at her. “But trust me, that guy is bad, bad news. He has to go.” 

Dennis smirked and rolled his eyes, giving him a playful look. “Miles, you can’t get rid of a Waylon’s boyfriend just cause you don’t like their heavy pettin’. Yah gotta let the boys be! Ooorrr…” He held up the back of his hand to him and wiggled his fingers. “…yah gotta put a ring on it.” 

“I’m NOT JEALOUS.” Despite his zealous claim his face had turned a lovely shade of pink. 

“Look,” said Lisa, “all I really want to know is if he’s safe. Is he actually really genuinely in danger?” 

“YES, god, are you people deaf?”

“Alright, well why is he in danger?”

Miles sighed heavily and rubbed his temples as he weighed his options. Did he really want to spill the beans now and to all four of them? It would definitely be a total game changer and, more importantly, Waylon would never forgive him. Ever. If he did tell them he wanted to make sure his own feelings weren’t part of the equation, but as objective as he might try to be he couldn’t truly separate his feelings from the situation entirely and he was well aware of that. In the end he decided that as long as Waylon was alright that was all that really mattered. Even if Waylon hated him. He heaved an even greater sigh before looking around at the four of them. 

“Listen…” he began in a somber tone. “Waylon is…alright, how do I say this…” He paused as the rest of them quieted down, sensing a sudden mood change in the room as it came through like a cool breeze. “Have any of you ever heard of…the Phantom of the Opera?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faaaaabulous, what do you guys think?! Do you like it?! I like this one in particular, possibly. I think I might be stalling a little, this chapter was essential to the plot and for building tension, but maybe I'm subconsciously pushing away the inevitable?
> 
> As always I like to hear your constructive criticisms and what you guys liked so feel free to let me know :)


	9. All I Ask of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone prepares for the next big premiere and so far everything is going uncharacteristically according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna make a couple notes about some formatting changes. No more italics for flashbacks. If it's confusing let me know.
> 
> And this chapter has some pretty graphic nsfw content, so you were warned.

At first Waylon suspected that they were all just irritated with him for blowing them off. He never did make it over to the hospital. Instead, he, well…he thought back to that week as he tried to ignore his growing feeling of unease the same way he usually tried to ignore the first signs of his immune system succumbing to a cold. 

 

 

 

Lisa had barely been gone for ten seconds after deciding not to break down the door and Eddie had already managed to remove approximately half of Waylon’s clothing. Why now of all times he had decided he couldn’t keep his hands off of him… well, actually, Waylon had a couple of ideas about that. Or, more accurately, he knew exactly why. Sometimes Eddie was impossible to figure out but honestly a lot of the time Waylon found him more transparent than Eddie would ever imagine. 

Primarily, Eddie was jealous. Jealous that he was leaving him to spend time with Miles and the others somewhere he couldn’t follow, not even to watch, lurking in the shadows as he often did. And he was angry, angry at the anticipation that Waylon might feel it was acceptable to leave him after carelessly violating one of his dearest kept secrets. He detested rudeness. He had betrayed him and now he wanted to leave him. All of this accounted for his current shenanigans.

But what Waylon still couldn’t figure out was what had gotten into _himself_. At first he had been perhaps overly patient as he put up with Eddie pinning him against the door and making him bleat like a lamb. He put up with the fact that he’d forced him into an awkward situation with Lisa and if he was honest with himself he didn’t mind _too_ much that Eddie was clearly determined to keep him from going to the hospital if it meant he was going to keep him otherwise occupied. He could have even overlooked the way he’d shoved him forcefully against the door and pinned him there so his feet didn’t touch the ground. He was starting to get used to the fact that his brutish and sometimes violent behavior was unconventional, but increasingly looked forward to on both parts, so a little bit of manhandling wasn’t the problem either. Even if he was afraid of him at times…well, that was part of the fun, wasn't it?

But as his teasing went on the seriousness of the situation really hit him. Lisa couldn’t find out about them. What if she discovered who Eddie was, what if she talked to Miles? The Phantom of Mount Massive was notorious for violence, murder, and cruelty…anything bad or unfortunate that happened got blamed on the opera ghost whether or not it was true. It was already Waylon’s fault that Miles knew what little he did and that could potentially make it easier for him to catch Eddie, but if more people found out about him it could ruin everything. It would bring an end to everything he and Eddie had worked for, but more importantly it would solidify the Phantom as a person that could be brought to justice for all the crimes that he may or may not have committed. It would start trouble, big trouble, and the fact that Eddie would let his feelings of possessiveness over him ruin his anonymity when his jealousy wasn’t even founded on truth?

Waylon went from too horny to even function to so angry he couldn’t see straight in three seconds flat and before he even understood why he was hitting and shoving Eddie with such ferocity that he had him backed up halfway across the room. He stared at Waylon dumbstruck wondering if maybe he had pushed him too far, although he wasn’t quite sure how he’d done that. He’d put him through worse before, but now he looked quite upset.

Eddie took a step back as Waylon’s tiny, blonde form came towards him and executed a well-timed, two-handed push against his chest, making him just unsteady enough as he backed into the couch that he toppled back over the armrest and fell flat on his back onto the cushions. Waylon would take the time to marvel at Eddie’s timid expression of surrender later on when he wasn’t busy trying simultaneously not to cry and not to punch him in the face. For now all he wanted was to make him understand how frustrating and stupid he was. 

“What the hell were you thinking? Lisa and Miles are really close, what if she talks to him about this, did you even think of that? Or were you just too busy making sure that everyone in the world knows I’m yours to think about anything else?” The phrase I’m yours rang with brutal accuracy as it left his mouth, and it would have made him blush if his cheeks weren’t already flushed with lust and fury. He wasn’t yelling, but the venom he heard in his own voice surprised him. “You know, for a genius you’re really stupid, Eddie. Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want to do this anymore? If you keep treating me this way I’m going to end up as crazy as you!” 

“If you leave me I’ll kill you.” His voice was cold and matter of fact. It was hardly even necessary to say it; they both already knew, and they both already knew that Waylon would never leave. Either way, he wasn't fazed.

Waylon clambered onto the couch and sat on top of him straddling his thick waist between his thighs. He was gripping so tightly to Eddie’s shoulders, digging his nails into his flesh, that they would surely bruise. He hoped they did. He squeezed harder and Eddie actually winced. They were both hyperaware of the hardness in Waylon’s unbuttoned pants pressing against Eddie’s stomach and of the fact that he was shirtless. It took all of his will power not to rub against him. His own body’s need made him even angrier, it was Eddie’s fault after all. All of it was his fault.

“Maybe I’ll kill you first.” His voice was quiet and heated and somewhere in the back of his mind as an undercurrent to his anger and desire he thought that it didn’t really sound like him…not the way he was used to hearing himself anyway, but it was definitely him, a more primal version of Waylon Park that was, in a way, such a relief to finally meet. Eddie was staring at him with a reverent but wholly vicious look on his face. 

“Then you’ll be alone alone again, darling. No one could ever love you as much as me.” As much as he was saying it to hurt him in retaliation for imagined slights, it was also, as far as he was concerned, a simple statement of fact.

“No, then you’ll be alone again, Eddie. You didn’t have anyone before you had me!” His fingers trembled as they gripped white knuckled at Eddie’s vest. He paused and then, with every intention to wound and without any concern for the consequences of his words, he hissed softly, “You’re afraid I’ll leave you for Miles…”

Eddie’s gaze burned into him with such rage and agony that Waylon's heart raced madly as he wondered whether or not he was going to hit him…he could see that he wanted to. For a moment neither of them moved, hardly breathing as the tension in the room reached a climax that he wasn’t sure he would survive…but he hadn’t finished. 

“I could be anywhere or with anyone, but I’m here…I’m here with you. I already _chose_ you.” Eddie didn’t move an inch as he leaned down and kissed him with more passion and confidence than he thought he was capable of. Eddie was tense and motionless against his lips at first, but then Waylon groaned softly into the kiss as he felt Eddie’s hands slide firmly over his butt and up his hips where they came to rest comfortably on his waist, planted directly against his hot skin. He pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath, panting softly from adrenaline and the exertion of manhandling someone twice his size, but he quickly dove back into the kiss with greedy, parted lips, squeezing Eddie between his thighs as if he were trying to escape. He was still shirtless and his pants were still undone from Eddie's earlier antics, and neither of them had ever stopped feeling like they wanted to eat each other alive. Every cutting word was unintentional foreplay. The more they said things to push the other away, the more it drew them to one another because it reminded them of what they had to lose, what they would _refuse_ to lose. For all his anger now it only made Waylon want to touch Eddie more. His body faithfully reminded him of how helpless he was to resist the electric warmth Eddie made him feel just by being preset. He had to touch him, he needed to get closer, it was never going to be enough.

As Waylon gasped into the kiss and slid his tongue in deeper his hands dove at the buttons of Eddie’s clothes frantically. His enthusiasm was contagious and soon he could feel Eddie kissing him back hard and hungry as he gripped at his hips, pinning them down against him until it hurt. Waylon squirmed against his grasp, desperately trying to buck, to find some friction. In his frustration he grabbed the material of Eddie’s clothes and carelessly tore them open, prying them apart until his hands could slip inside and press into the hard muscles of his chest. He ran them up and down over his torso and shoulders and neck as Eddie allowed his hips to rock against him finally, finally. He moaned with satisfaction and pulled back, gasping for air as he went to sit up, but Eddie unforgivingly grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulled him back down, and buried his mouth against his once again. 

He hated him, he hated Eddie for the way he needed him. No matter what he did or said, no matter how much he hated him he loved him more. His fingers wound their way into Eddie’s dark hair reflexively, and then his back arched hard as Eddie’s hand deftly slid into his underwear and wrapped around his cock. He was becoming increasingly comfortable with touching him and by this point it was quite obvious to him that it no longer seemed to matter that he wasn’t a girl. Waylon moaned into his mouth shamelessly as any sense of modesty or dignity threw itself out the window, and Eddie pulled back from the kiss so that he could hear him better as he pumped his fist roughly, making him keen and shudder. It was too fast too soon. He clung to Eddie’s shoulders and pressed his face into his neck as moan after moan ripped themselves from his throat and his hips jolted involuntarily. 

“Aah….Eddie…” he pleaded breathlessly as his vision went white. Eddie hummed with blissful satisfaction as Waylon buried his face into his neck and made a delicious choking sound before he began to sing for him. He clutched his slender body to him with adoration and savored the sound of his vocalizations until they finally faded to silence, but Waylon had hardly finished before he suddenly began wriggling his way down Eddie’s body, finally settling himself between his legs. He looked down at him curiously, but he hardly had time to process the realization of what was happening before Waylon was yanking down his pants and taking him into his mouth. He pressed one hand into Eddie’s hip and flattened the other against the hardened muscles of his stomach up underneath his shirt as his head bobbed eagerly and his tongue flicked back and forth. Eddie fought to keep his vision focused on him, he wanted to remember this image of his darling forever. It didn’t matter that he’d clearly never done this before, Eddie hadn’t ever _had_ this done to him before, but it was definitely something he would take care to have repeated. Whatever Waylon lacked in experience he sure made up for in enthusiasm. It wasn’t just something he was doing because he felt obligated to, he _wanted_ to, god he wanted to, and his efforts did not go unrewarded. Eddie’s low, husky moans of pleasure drove him on like a whip cracking at his rear. He would do anything to ring more sounds out of him like that. 

Inexperience also meant that Waylon didn’t see it coming (or rather Eddie coming) until it was too late for him to make any decision as to what to do about it. He pulled back suddenly with a mouthful of cum as he coughed gently, giving the rest no place to go but onto his face which still managed to take him by surprise. Eddie looked down at him with glossy eyes. He spared a moment to take in the glorious view of Waylon staring up at him wide-eyed, flushed, and breathless before he sat up and removed his shirt the rest of the way. Waylon sat up as well and looked away shyly as Eddie moved closer to him, shirt in hand. He smiled softly and wiped the mess from his cheek then he set it aside and held him close, placing a loving kiss on his forehead that still somehow, after everything, made him blush. 

 

 

 

Now Waylon lay on that same couch in his living room as he thought back to that scene and his cheeks grew ever pinker. He sighed and fidgeted, feeling awkward and turned on just from the memories…turned on for obvious reasons, and awkward because it had been embarrassing and he still felt guilty about what he’d said, even though they’d both apologized soon after. At one point he would have said that he’d never want to hurt Eddie no matter how angry he made him or what he did to him, but he was clearly naive and very very wrong about that. He couldn’t lie about it now, he’d definitely wanted to hurt him in that moment and it had been abundantly clear to both of them. But rather than being being hurt and disgusted Eddie met Waylon's ugly hate with awe and adoration, as if he had been waiting for this moment when he would expose all of himself to him. There were barriers still to break down, but this was the beginning, although of what Waylon had no idea, despite Eddie's clearly orchestrated intentions. Waylon had heard once that the opposite of love was not hate, but apathy…he never understood exactly what that meant until now. He also wondered what else he could possibly be wrong about.

There were no secrets between them now anyway, or at least not on Waylon’s side. That must have been what Eddie meant when he’d said what he had not too long ago… 

You’re not what you’re meant to be, not yet.

When anyone with eyes can see who you truly are…

He’d known. He’d known all along…what else did he know? What else did he know that Waylon didn’t? But more important than that…it felt good, it felt so good that he couldn’t deny that it had, to just…feel. To be, without question, without hesitation, to say what he felt without fretting over the consequences. To allow his negative feelings and thoughts to just exist, in their purest form, without guilt or suppression, without judgement or fear and to show that side of himself to another person that he knew would love him regardless of how he felt about himself. Sure, he didn’t want to feel anger, he didn’t want to be sad, but how many times had he felt that way and pretended he didn’t until he didn’t know what the truth was? But Eddie knew the truth. He saw it in him, he saw _all_ of him and he loved him anyway. He gripped at his chest as it ached for all the love that he felt. Finally, he thought he understood everything with almost total clarity. The doubt in his mind had disappeared, the fear had gone too and all that was left was him and Eddie. The rest would fall into place.

But that vague sense of unease lingered, just a wandering feeling that he was missing something. Was there something he’d forgotten or just never noticed? He went through it in his mind over and over until he was dizzy, but he could think of nothing, and yet he had a sense that he’d made a terrible oversight. Whatever it was they could handle it together…he hoped.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t talked to anyone but Eddie since that day outside of hurried hellos and distracted goodbyes. If they were just avoiding him because they were annoyed with him for ditching wouldn’t they just say so? Especially Miles, actually…Waylon stopped, his eyes flying open. He sat up slowly looking unnerved and perplexed. Why wasn’t Miles angry with him? He’d clearly skipped out on their get-together, something Miles definitely would have suspected to be Eddie’s fault, a fact that would have incited him even further. But when he had apologized…he nervously reviewed the text messages on his phone:

_-Hey Miles, I’m really sorry about the other night…really really sorry. REALLY SORRY. I swear I’ll make it up to you, anything, just name it.-_

_-Tell me about the Phantom?-_

_-Other than that.-_

_-It’s okay, don’t worry Waylon. All is forgiven. Not everything revolves around you, you know :P -_

_-Really? You’re not mad?_

_-Nah, I know you’re busy with the show. Just come see me when you can, I miss your face.-_

He remembered thinking afterwards that the exchange had been oddly sweet on Miles’ end. He really thought for a while that Miles might never speak to him again, or at least threaten not to. Not only had he _not_ done that, but he hadn’t even requested a favor in return. He told him it was _okay_ , no blackmail, no threats, nothing that indicated he was even a fraction as pissed off as Waylon thought he would be. In his relief he hadn’t noticed, but now in hindsight…

Maybe he should take Miles up on that visit today. 

He was just changing out of his pajamas (no it is certainly _not_ mid-afternoon…definitely not) when he heard a knock at his front door. Startled, he stopped and looked up, half in and half out the jeans he thought made his butt look the best; if he was going to discover something infuriating he figured he would be more intimidating if he looked good. But Eddie didn’t knock. He hurried into his pants and did-up the fly quickly as he made his way to the front door. “Coming!” he called out a few yards from the door. He pulled it open and…

“…Lisa!” He smiled cheerfully, but upon seeing the look on her face his demeanor readily shifted to caution.

“Hi Waylon,” she said curtly. “Can I come in?”

He rushed to stand back and hold open the door for her. “O-of course, come on in.” He closed it behind her as he eyed her back with an air of worry. “Is…everything okay? Can I get you something to drink?”

She looked at him kindly and though she smiled she didn’t look like she really meant it. He could see the worry swirling in her eyes like a cloudy sky. “Could you please? ‘Course I left my water bottle in the car…” 

“Yeah, of course!” he chirped and smiled as he half jogged to the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and handed it to her as he sat down on the couch beside her delicately. “So…uh…of course always a pleasure, but you seem upset about something…” A realization seemed to hit him as his eyes got big and filled with guilt. “Oh duh, gosh, I’m so sorry about last weekend, it was just this…weird thing and-” He stopped abruptly as she started giggling. 

“You’re so cute…it’s okay, that was lame, but I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. It’s totally fine, although I expect you to follow through on your promise that you and me are gonna hang out one of these days so don’t think you’re wiggling out of it.” 

He grinned sheepishly. “I wouldn’t dream of it….” He paused, looking her over with concern. “So what’s the matter then?” He did have a bad feeling about this, but he immediately found out that even his dread was much too optimistic.

“Well he probably wouldn’t like that I’m telling you this, but…Miles told us about Eddie.”

Waylon kept his expression as even as possible as the room floated away from him. Jesus _christ_ , he told all of them? What did he say? There were a lot of things he could have said, please god just tell me he said Eddie’s my secret boyfriend….

“Oh…did he? What did he say about him?”

She smiled a little at him in apology. “It’s kind of weird, I know Miles goes on these crazy rampages sometimes so bare with me. First of all, he said Eddie’s the name of the guy you’re dating?” Waylon nodded slowly as he stared back at her with a vacant expression. “And he told us he lives in the theater and that he’s the one everyone’s talking about when they say The Phantom of the Opera.” This time he didn’t react. She waited…but he didn’t respond, likely meaning that he didn’t want her to see how upset he was. This must have been why Miles told them not to say anything to him about it, because based on Waylon’s reaction so far, or lack thereof, Miles was going to get his butt beat. For a moment she wondered if she shouldn't have come. Seeing Waylon so upset when he usually fought so hard to appear cheerful, it really hurt her, but this had to be done. No more cryptic nonsense. “Now…don’t freak out…it’s alright. I don’t take Miles too seriously, you know that. But he seems to think you’re in some kind of danger.”

“Well _Miles_ is an idiot and a liar,” he stated coldly.

“I see bruises on you sometimes in odd places, Waylon. You’ve been acting strangely and more often than not you look troubled or nervous, very jumpy when you’re backstage, always disappearing for long periods at a time during which no one can get ahold of you. And that weird thing yesterday, and now Miles is telling me you’re dating a murderer?” She grabbed his hand firmly and suddenly he was intimidated by the intensity of her gaze. She had some of that passionate ferocity that he admired so much in Eddie, but being the subject of it was no easier. “I need to know that you’re safe. I need you to tell me what’s going on at least enough so that I know that I don’t have to kill your boyfriend, you know I’ll destroy him if he’s hurting you, right? I will fucking-“

“He’s NOT Lisa, he’s-“ He groaned and buried his face in his tense and trembling hands. After a while he lowered one, the other planted across his forehead, but he kept his eyes determinedly on the rug as he tried to keep himself calm. “Eddie is… my boyfriend, or whatever. Yes, we’re in a relationship and it’s… a little unconventional, but I’m not in danger…” …probably.

“Is he really the opera ghost? I mean…what is that even all about, is Miles losing his mind?”

“No, no, he’s…” He paused. “Eddie does live in the theater, but he’s not… he’s not a murderer, and he’s certainly not a ghost. Those are all rumors and gossip and totally unfounded and I know Eddie better than anyone and he would never do something like that.” Waylon wondered when lying had become so easy for him…probably as soon as he’d started doing it to protect Eddie. He finally picked his head up and met her eyes and for a long moment neither of them said anything. She clearly wasn’t convinced that all was well so he added, “Miles doesn’t like him because… because he’s jealous, it’s as simple as that. He means well, but he just…”

“Miles was in love with Jeremy.” 

A long pause. Confusion, and then a little bit of nausea. 

“…Jeremy? Jeremy Blaire?” he spat out the name like a swear, his face twisted in disgust. 

“Yeah, Jeremy Blaire…they were…it’s hard to explain, they hated each other but they were really in love. Everyone could tell.” That sounded uncomfortably familiar…he tried to keep an open mind as he listened and watched as sadness seemed to wash over Lisa in gentle waves while she spoke. “I know you didn’t know Jeremy very long and yeah, I didn’t like him either, he was a scumbag, but Miles used to say he wasn’t always that way. They went to school together and-”

“Wait, wait…they went to school together?” He was confused; hadn’t Jeremy been, like, considerably older than them?

“Yeah, they were room mates at the Academy.” 

“But he was…wasn’t he like, almost in his forties?”

She laughed, and smiled sadly. “No, he looked and tried to act like he was older and he usually just said he was in his twenties or thirties depending on who asked, but you know too that he wasn’t a man that often favored the truth. He favored whatever suited him best. Rumors went around guessing at his actual age, but he was actually only one year older than Miles. He thought saying he was older would get him ahead faster and I guess it did because he became the director here almost immediately without any of the usual stepping stones in between.” That was, if you didn’t count the people he stepped on as stepping stones. So... that made him the same age as Eddie?

“Woah…” Okay, so that made his advances a little less creepy, but…somehow still not at all. Jeremy had always possessed a certain…greasy, unsettling quality to him. Maybe Waylon was just too perceptive; it was just that he always seemed like he was up to something nasty, and he usually was. He had to admit that he was handsome and charming, but only when it suited him. Then again, Miles was that way sometimes too. He could be downright obnoxious when there was nothing to gain from being pleasant. 

So Jeremy had been two years older than himself when he died. “I had…no idea. So he died when he was…not even in his thirties...” She nodded gravely and took a sip of her water. Waylon sighed and looked at his lap. It’s funny how quickly your perception of someone could change.

“My point is that Miles never really got over that and, well, the story that’s gotten around over the years is that Jeremy was probably having sex with some girl in the company, or some guy, and I don’t think Miles wanted to believe that. He’s a fighter…he always needs a cause to believe in. I think secretly he just wants someone to be responsible for the accident…other than Jeremy. The Phantom of the Opera has an odd way of picking up everybody else’s loose ends. Anything that no one wants to take responsibility for…anything bad that happens…it’s the phantom. It’s the opera ghost’s fault.”

Waylon was sickened with himself for feeling any kind of relief from what she was telling him. That would mean that Eddie wasn’t responsible for Jeremy’s murder, that it hadn’t been a murder at all, if what she was saying was true.

“So you think…you think it was an accident?”

She nodded.

“…what exactly did Miles say to you?” 

“He told us that the phantom is real, that Eddie is the phantom, that the phantom is therefore your boyfriend and that he has reason to suspect that he’s responsible for a slew of murders in the area.” 

“What? Like a serial killer?” He was going to be a murderer too the next time he saw Miles’ stupid face. 

“Yeah, basically. He wouldn’t give us details, says they’re ‘confidential’, but that he wants us to help keep an eye on you. He said not to tell you about it…but I really don’t have it in me to pretend like this isn’t happening.”

“Miles should have known better than to ask you to do that.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I think he kind of knew I’d spill the beans, he gave me that look like he does that he thinks is intimidating.” Waylon chuckled. He knew that look. He’d thought it was intimidating actually, before he met Eddie. 

She continued more forcefully, “Listen. I’m not going to tell anyone else about this because it’s not their business…” God bless you, Lisa. "Unless I think he’s hurting people. Then it’s out of our hands. And if he hurts you?” Her eyes suddenly hardened as she absentmindedly began cracking her knuckles. It never would have even crossed his mind to think that she wasn’t dead serious and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled unpleasantly. “I swear I’ll rip his fucking head off and shove it in his ass.”

“As sweet as that sentiment is…I swear it won’t be necessary. He’s a good, sweet guy. He treats me well.” He saw her glance at his neck for just a second and so he offered reluctantly with a heavy sigh and a blush, “The bruises are…just…from…sexual…kind of…stuff…”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Waylon, I’m all for the kinky stuff.” 

She laughed loudly at the look on his face. 

“If you’re being safe, sane, and consensual I really couldn’t care less how you choreograph the dance with no pants.” 

It was Waylon’s turn to burst out laughing; he never heard it put quite like that before. She giggled and they smiled at each other for a moment before she finished off her water and checked the time on her phone. “Sorry to keep you so long…I just wanted to make sure you were okay and to warn you about Miles.” She tucked her phone away and looked back up at him earnestly. “…are you sure you’re okay? Really really?” 

Waylon smiled. “Yes, really really…I’m okay. It’s kind of hard dating a guy that lives in an opera house that no one can know about because he has a bad reputation…but I think I’ve got it all under control.” Was his eye twitching? He thought maybe his eye was twitching.

She smiled back at him warmly as she stood up, but then she stopped and just…looked at him. Like she was searching for something. He couldn’t figure out what she thinking or what he’d done to earn such a look. It was like she was seeing something new in him that she hadn’t before.

“…what?” He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“…nothing. Sorry, you just seem...different. Good different.” She hugged him gently and he hugged her back feeling perplexed. 

He walked her to the door then turned to smile at her as he held it open.

“We’ll hang out soon, okay? As soon as Trager decides to take our shackles off for a little bit?” 

After laughing, agreeing whole-heartedly, and kissing him on the cheek they said their good-byes and she left. It wasn’t until she was long gone that Waylon took out his phone and dialed Miles’ number. As it rang and rang he contemplated all the terrible things he wanted to say him, that he hated him, that he’d ruined everything, that he was a complete and utter ass and that he never wanted to speak to him again, but by the time he got his voicemail he knew exactly what he wanted to say that would sum up all of that, neatly packaged with a nice little bow on top.

Beep. 

“Fuck you.” 

He hung up, scrolled down through Miles’ contact info, tapped ‘Block Caller’, and prayed that Miles wouldn’t be stupid enough to show his face in the theater again anytime soon because honestly he didn’t know what he was capable of anymore. 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t know, Eddie, I think he’s really serious.”

Waylon followed close behind Eddie’s much longer, more confident strides as he made his way back over to the costumed mannequin he was currently working on. He wasn’t listening. He just didn’t care about any of it, but he had to make him care.

“I know he’s serious,” Eddie said as he smirked and continued humming cheerfully. Waylon watched with a mesmerized but anxious expression as his strong hands pinned together the soft folds of fabric with the utmost precision and care. He didn’t know what the dress he was working on was for, but it was a masterpiece. The harder he tried to make Eddie see the seriousness of the situation the more he seemed unable to concentrate on the task at hand. Eddie was in a downright jolly mood and it was infectious; neither of them could seem to focus on discussing what to do about Miles and, even more importantly, the fact that everyone knew about them. Of course someone had talked, probably Dennis. He was a sweet heart, truly, but he had a big fucking mouth, and now rumors were spreading like wildfire, yeah, even more than before.

As much as Waylon blamed him, he blamed Miles above everyone and they still hadn’t spoken since he’d talked to Lisa almost a week ago. He gave Waylon a few days to cool off and then he’d come to the theater during rehearsal. After spending some…alone time with Chris…Miles appeared in the seats where he watched Waylon on stage with those big, puppy dog eyes. They finished and without so much as a glance Waylon went back to his apartment on the other side of the building, but even in his peripherals he could feel Miles’ sad gaze upon him, hesitant, longing to approach him, but abstaining. _‘Good. Let him suffer a little,’_ he’d thought, but in all honesty he knew it was going to be such a relief for both of them when Waylon finally allowed himself to speak to him again. 

It seemed that somehow nearly everyone knew about Eddie at this point…not his name, perhaps, but they knew that the Phantom was very much real. They also knew, as far as he could tell, that they were in love. Not just dating, mind you. Everyone had fallen under the assumption (quite accurately) that the Phantom was infatuated with Waylon, utterly obsessed with him and vice versa. No one said anything to him about it directly, in fact no one hardly spoke to him at all anymore, but he could see it in the way they looked at him with awe and with questions in their eyes…and with fear. He was always walking in on people talking about them or heard them whispering about it on the other side of the curtain. The guys would say, _’So all the rumors are true? Waylon Park, the lead in this month’s show, didn’t he used to be on the tech crew?’ ‘That explains why he got the part.’ ‘Guess that’s the only way nowadays, gotta sleep with the director, just like that other guy, remember ‘im?’_ The girls would chatter on, speculating about their relationship, _‘I never even knew he was gay, didn’t seem like the type, I mean Miles I could believe, but Waylon Park?’ ‘It’s pretty romantic though, isn’t it? How does someone fall in love with a ghost anyway?’ ‘Nah, he’s not really a ghost, he’s the mysterious playwright that provides the scripts. I bet that’s why they’re all tragic love stories.’_

Now that the veil was lifted from them was the truth really so obvious? It was as if no one had even thought to deny it. He’d never heard a single person say one thing about the rumors maybe _not_ being true. Once the pieces fell into place the picture was clear for everyone to see and now it was just a commonly accepted fact.

The notorious, mysterious, powerful and talented genius known as the Phantom of the Opera was running the show and he was madly in love with Waylon Park.

Maybe it was secretly the euphoria of having their love finally recognized in any form by people other than themselves that made the matter so hard to take seriously. Murder allegations were nothing to joke about and it would cause problems for Eddie to have any of his secrets revealed, but it was so much more near to being normal that neither of them could avoid the intoxication that came with it. That could be why Waylon didn’t feel as angry at Miles as he initially thought he would be, I mean of course at first his temper had sent him on another violent cleaning spree and they still weren’t speaking, but it was so hard to be angry when it had suddenly become so much more believable that him and Eddie could have a somewhat normal life together. 

And Lisa had said she believed Jeremy’s death really _was_ an accident…if that were true then the only thing left to worry about was Miles and his supposed confidential evidence. He highly doubted that there was any, but then again…

Why did he still feel so uneasy?

“Eddie! You’re not listening to me, would you just…just stop for a secon-” Eddie suddenly stopped what he was doing, took his face in his hands, and silenced him with a passionate kiss. He moaned softly as the tenseness in his muscles melted away and just like that he had been defeated. Damn him. He blinked up at him lazily and heaved a heavy, contented sigh as he placed a hand over Eddie’s where it rested on his cheek. 

“Eddie…”

“You worry too much, Waylon, darling.” He looked concerned about him now that he was still and gazing into his anxiety ridden eyes. He stroked his cheek with his thumb lovingly and wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky as to have someone like this worrying over him. 

Waylon smiled softly as his body gravitated closer to Eddie’s without the slightest awareness that he was doing so. Silly…it was so silly to worry about anything, wasn’t it? It was a miracle that the two of them were standing here together, Eddie’s broad, regal presence somehow matched perfectly by his own short, mousy demeanor. Anyone, he thought, would be privileged to stand here in his place right at that moment. He’d never been so loved, so treasured, by anyone else in the world and he knew he never would be. 

He reached up to take Eddie’s face in his hands as he stood on his tiptoes and pulled him down to meet him. Eddie leaned over obediently and watched, content and docile, as Waylon planted kiss after kiss on his face, his jaw, his lips, his cheeks and then slowly reached up and placed his hand over the smooth, white surface of his mask, gently running his fingertips over the cool porcelain.

For a few seconds they just looked at one another and then carefully Waylon slipped off the mask like it was the easiest thing in the world. By all accounts he should have been afraid, but he wasn’t in the least, and Eddie’s only reaction was to gaze down at him with all the love and tenderness Waylon was so used to. Now he could see both of his eyes clearly and it was just as he remembered; each a striking blue, but the left pupil drowning in a sea of red. He took a moment to look over the terrible scarring that covered the left side of his face, making the skin look sore and elastic, red and raw and he hoped not painful. He rested his hand on his right cheek, coaxing him down closer to him again, and smiled softly as he began peppering the scars with kisses. Eddie just barely winced, not in pain, but shyness.

“Darling…” he muttered quietly as he closed his eye and Waylon placed the softest of kisses over it. 

When he was finished he let him stand back up to his full height then he handed him back the mask, an infatuated smile softening his features.

“I love you, Eddie…nothing could change that…so please don’t be afraid.”

Eddie hoped Waylon meant that. Only time would tell. 

 

 

 

He’d honestly given his best to hold onto his anger, but in the end he just wasn’t that kind of person. Much earlier than he’d meant to, Waylon now found himself willing to forgive Miles assuming that he was sorry in the first place, and he was headed towards Lisa’s dressing room where he could hear everyone gathered. He was sure Miles, Chris, and probably at least a handful of others were relaxing there after rehearsal.

Their next show followed the story of a princess, played by Lisa, that was kidnapped and forced to marry a prince who held unrequited love for her. Waylon was now playing the part of the princess’s servant, taking care of her during her time in the prince’s castle. His character falls in love with the princess and although she never finds out about his love for her, he helps her escape and tragically dies in the process. So, although Waylon’s role had no speaking parts, he was still technically a major character and present in many of the scenes. Therefore, he had no choice but to attend nearly every rehearsal and stand in the background doing almost nothing for at least half the play. It was terribly tedious, but, he thought, still much better than being forced to play the original role that Eddie had assigned to him which was that of the princess. Although Lisa was then cast as the servant, he couldn’t help but feel as if Eddie would have preferred to play the part of the servant himself if he could have. He could just seen the two of them on stage together, acting out their tragic romance…

After rehearsal he’d noticed that no one bothered inviting him to hang out which admittedly ticked him off. What did they think, the Phantom was going to have them all beheaded if they spent too much time in his company? Or perhaps it was because Miles was present; with the pace that gossip moved through a theater troupe it was likely that every soul there knew that Waylon and Miles weren’t speaking. Typical. 

He knocked on the door. 

“Come in!” he almost heard Lisa say over Miles’ and Chris’ shouts of, “COME IN!” and Dennis’s shriek of, “GO AWAY!”

He pushed the door open and looked at the group of them huddled in a circle in the suddenly tiny room. Chris had the couch and although it looked like he was originally supposed to share the couch with Miles, Miles was now glued to his lap, arms round his neck like he would fall off the couch if he didn’t hold on properly. The rest were clumped nearby in chairs centered around a short table covered in snacks and drinks. Lisa eyes widened in surprise and delight when she saw him. “Waylon!”

Miles’ head jerked towards the door mid-laugh and as soon as he saw him he dropped his arms from Chris’s neck, a look of hopeful surprise on his face. “Waylon…!” he breathed in nervous excitement. 

Waylon sighed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

“Hi Miles…” 

There was a long silence that was only awkward for everyone other than Miles and Waylon as the two stared at each other like they hadn’t seen one another in years. Neither of them knew how to move forward from this moment. It wasn’t until Chris shifted in place that Waylon got talking.

“I…can I…talk to you? Miles?” 

“Sure, sure!” He quickly slipped off of Chris’s lap and maneuvered towards the door through the cramped room with one crutch tucked under his arm. They met in the hall, closing the door behind them, and began walking toward the nearest door leading outside. The cool nighttime air sounded appealing and it would give them a little more privacy hopefully. Once outside, Waylon turned towards him and crossed his arms overs chest as Miles leaned the crutch against the wall of the building.

“How could you, Miles? Really, I knew you might pull something, but this?” He was still angry, more than he’d thought he still was. He could hear it in the unexpected hardness of his voice. 

“I know, I know, I’m _sorry_ , Waylon, I’m sorry. I am.” He huffed and put his hands in his pockets as he looked at the ground. Waylon was glad that he looked tense and uncomfortable, even better because it wasn’t a look he was used to seeing on Miles. 

“Are you? Are you sorry?” He rested his arms at his sides as he glared at him accusingly. “Cause if you were sorry that would mean you regretted it and something tells me that you don’t.”

Miles took great care with his next words. “I am sorry because I wish that I had gone about it more delicately, and more specifically I never should have told Dennis. I’m sorry, I didn’t think everyone would find out.” He watched nervously as Waylon began to pace back and forth in irritation.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done, Miles. Eddie didn’t do any of the things you think he did and it’s so much more complicated now that everyone knows about him. He could get into a lot of trouble.”

“He won’t if he’s innocent, Way, it’ll be fine. I just want you to be safe, alright? That was all I ever wanted. Lisa was worried about you too. We're all worried about you.”

“You need to stop, Miles.” Waylon looked at him and suddenly the silence around them seemed much too loud. The abrupt lack of anger in his voice was unsettling. If he wasn’t telling him to stop because he was angry, then why was he so worked up? “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he continued as he eyed Miles with both desperation and resignation.

“What do you mean? If the Phantom’s killed people we need to know, Waylon, we-“

“Just listen, listen for a second, you’re putting a huge target on your back by making problems like this and if you’re wrong it’ll all be for nothing. Eddie won’t forget about this, if you think he’s dangerous then why would you want to antagonize him?” He didn’t think Eddie was a murderer…or if he was, well…he didn’t think he was dangerous, but he knew he could be if Miles tried to get in between them. He recalled that at one time he’d been worried that Miles’ accident hadn’t been an accident; it had happened just after the two of them had agreed to go out on a date and it had created the opportunity Waylon needed for his career to take off. 

“What are you getting at? Did he say something about me or something?” 

“No, no, I just…” He sighed and rubbed his forehead feeling more anxious than angry. “I don’t know, I just don’t want you to get hurt. I have a bad feeling about it is all. If he thought he was protecting me I don’t know what he might do.”

Miles snorted and rolled his eyes. “Protecting you. Yeah, okay.”

“Shut it,” he snapped and glowered at him half-heartedly. “I’m trying to help you! For all our sakes just…just leave it alone.”

“I can’t. I can’t, Waylon,” he muttered as he hoisted his crutch back up under his arm. Waylon had no idea how much he really cared about him, did he? He wouldn’t let anything happen to him, he didn’t care about putting himself at risk. There was nothing the Phantom could do to him that would hurt him so he had nothing to lose. At least, that’s what he’d thought at the time. 

“Miles…”

He stopped and turned to look at him. Waylon almost decided not to hug him in case Eddie was watching, but the fact that he’d even hesitated made him want to hug him even more. Eddie could suck it. 

Miles held him closer with one arm, but he didn’t speak. He just wanted to savor the moment instead. Waylon totally ruined though. As he started to pull away he looked at him and smiled.

“Um, so. Are you and Chris, uh…” 

“…oh, uh, no. Not really, I mean…he’s not really…”

“Don’t say he’s not into you cause we both know that’s the biggest sack of crap I ever heard.”

He was going to say that Chris wasn’t really his type, but even if that was the truth it didn’t really feel like the whole truth. He liked Chris…a lot, but…

“Miles, please, literally everyone can see it. You guys are like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He smirked at Waylon as he headed for the heavy metal door back into the building. “I don’t know, Way.”

Waylon thought about what Lisa had told him about Miles and Jeremy and it quickly wiped the smile off his face…hell, if Eddie died…he would never get over it, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to date again in a couple years. What Waylon didn’t know though was that that was only half the story. 

He held the door open for Miles and they headed back to Lisa’s dressing room, but Waylon stopped at the door. Miles turned to look at him disappointedly. “You’re not gonna hang out?”

“Oh, uh…nah, I have to go over my lines.”

“Ha. ha.”

He snickered. “Sorry, no, I…it’s just….it’s weird now, yah know?” 

“Don’t be stupid, nobody cares that you're suckin’ faces with the Phantom, Way.”

Even if he said that…everything was different now. Awkward. He just wasn’t feeling very social. 

“I’ll come visit you soon, okay?” He turned to leave, but paused and looked back at him. “…take care, okay? Just be careful.”

 

 

 

The night of the premiere. 

His fingers twitched around the handle of the dagger in anticipation, but he took a pause in the chaos to admire the sight before him. The raucous crowd, the people backstage running to-and-fro in panic, and his darling standing breathless in the middle of it all. Ah…he could sense his presence…his darling never ceased to amaze him. The way he shivered when he was closest, the way his eyes glanced directly over the spot where he was hidden. He could sense that he was somewhere very close by. Of all the people frantically searching, why, his darling was the only one that had any idea of his whereabouts and yet he didn’t say a word, what a good boy.

He gripped the knife tighter and raised the curtain so that the show could begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never happy with the sexy stuff I write, maybe it's because I'm writing it so I'm being too critical to enjoy it? Hahaha.  
> Thanks for being patient with my cruel April Fool's humor.  
> As always constructive criticism is highly encouraged and appreciated :) thanks everyone, you guys are sweet. I already partially wrote the next chapter so the next update will be faster, also I'm never taking commissions again lol


	10. Why So Silent?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Should these commands be ignored a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant..." - OG

For just about the millionth time Waylon found himself so happy that Lisa was the one on stage right now and not him, not, for once, because he didn’t want to be, but because she had just given one of the most beautiful performances he had ever seen. He grinned at her as she came rushing down the hall towards her dressing room in a luxurious, form fitting dress…fit for a princess, no-doubt, although Waylon couldn’t help but think to himself that Eddie’s version would have been better. 

“Lisa, you are an _angel_ ,” he gushed as he handed her a water bottle. She beamed and may have blushed but it was hard to tell underneath all the stage make up.

“Thanks, sweetheart…I saw Miles in the audience. He’s in the front row, but he healed a lot faster than expected, I think he’s just milkin’ it now.” They laughed and he walked with her to her dressing room, reveling in his old familiar role as a techie as he listened to Trager’s voice barking orders over his headset. He had the volume turned down to a three out of twelve. “This is gonna be a great show. Are you ready to fall in love with me in a couple scenes?”

“Oh, was I supposed to wait to do that? Maybe you should have done a worse job in the intro then.”

“Oh, STOP it, Waylon!” she squealed and gave him a playful shove as she grinned ear to ear. “You cheeky monkey, I think you might be spending too much time with Miles!” He just laughed at her and smiled. 

“Anything I can do for you? You want me to find one of the girls to help you change?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, we ended up going with the tear-away velcro backing after all so it’s pretty easy. See you in the tower in twenty!” she said as she slipped into her dressing room. 

“Alright, good luck!” He made his way back down the hall to see what else he could help with and then change into his servant’s costume. Everything was going well, he felt unusually relaxed considering that shows, especially premieres like these, were generally very hectic, but shockingly nothing had gone wrong, everything was just like rehearsal only supercharged with nervous energy and excitement.

He slipped into the backstage area and watched as the actors flawlessly executed their lines and quietly made sure that everyone just behind the curtain had everything they needed to go on and give their best performance. He paused just before leaving to hear one of his favorite lines of the play; while the script was tragic at times it was hilarious at others and he liked those parts the best. Chuckling into his hand quietly, he turned as one of the dancers asked him to help do up a tie on his costume that had come undone. As he gave him a hand he listened to the beautiful piece that was currently being sung onstage, a cheery, jaunty tune that had him bobbing his head and struggling not to hum along. 

_Da da da daa da daa da duumm.…_

_**“Did I not instruct that box five was to be left empty?”** _

A deep, menacing voiced reverberated through the auditorium and for a moment of panic everything seemed to stop. Even the orchestra seemed to have forgotten to play. Waylon wondered if he was losing his mind until he looked around and saw the audience, the actors and actresses, the crew all frozen in shock and terror. Some of them were confused, pretending not to be afraid, but no one dared to speak or to move. Waylon’s eyes flitted around the theater in stunned reverence as he sought the source of the echoing sound still ringing in his ears. Trager came rushing backstage, staring around wide eyed as if he would find the Phantom there among them.

All eyes were on Waylon. If it was the person they were all thinking of then he would know. But as the rest of the people backstage turned to look at him they hardly needed him to speak to understand. His eyes were full of fear and awe as he gazed into the darkness of the theater as if hypnotized. 

“It’s him.”

Trager appeared suddenly at his side. “Be quiet,” he hissed viciously, attempting to quell the riot before it began. He turned to the rest and called so everyone could hear, “Keep going, places people, show’s not gonna run itself!” He clapped his hands sharply spurring everyone back into action, but things just weren’t quite the same from then on, and never again would be. 

Gradually the show continued. They moved onto the next scene, stumbling through the lines and the songs, making mistakes they never would have made in a better state of mind while Waylon remained glued to the spot in the flurry of action all around him, ignoring the mutters of the crowd and the whispers of the cast, their furtive glances in his direction as if they could somehow use him as a barometer to gauge the level of danger, but there was no point. None at all. He knew it was coming and yet he did not want to believe. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. He saw nothing. He heard nothing.

He wasn’t motivated to move even by Frank calling his name over the radio until the curtain went down and Dennis suddenly appeared at his side shaking his arm frantically. 

“Waylon! Have you seen Lisa?” Dennis stared at him earnestly in worry. 

“…Lisa?” He blinked the daze from his eyes. “What do you mean? She must be just offstage, she’s going on in less than a minute. I just saw her in her dressing-” 

“No, she’s not there, we already looked and her dressing room’s empty too.”

All the feelings he’d had from the time Eddie punched him in the gut game flooding back to him. He wouldn’t…

“I _just_ saw her there not ten minutes ago, how could she be-”

“I know! I know, but she’s not! …damn it!” he swore frantically as he rushed off to continue the search. 

He could hardly breathe as he glanced around at the chaos enveloping everyone else around him. The curtain was supposed to be up in just seconds with Lisa centerstage, how could she just disappear unless-… Eddie, what have you done? His eyes darted around the theater nervously. He was here, he was so close, he could just feel him there in the shadows as a tremor of terror and excitement danced up and down his spine. 

And then the curtains rose and somewhere in the background Frank was yelling, “Who opened the curtain, we’re not ready!” and the stage was full of dancers and choir girls were rushing back and forth in a panic as they tried to find Lisa, tried to prepare for the backup plan if they couldn’t find her, having instructions thrown at them from all sides. They hurried off stage, dropping props as they went, running into each other and creating a scene of utter mayhem to the hilarity of the audience. Finally someone had the presence of mind to close the curtains. Just call it off, call off the show before something worse happens, there’s no point, you’re all making a mistake…!

He watched, unable to move, as Trager and Frank both jogged out onto the stage and announced an apology to the audience, they would be fixing some _technical difficulties_ and in the meantime for your enjoyment the ballet from Act III of tonight’s opera!

Spell broken for the time being, Waylon suddenly turned and ran backstage to aide in the search for Lisa, she had to be somewhere, maybe she just stepped out for some air, maybe she-

“Waylon!” Miles cried as he came out of nowhere and caught him around the shoulders, practically clotheslining him as he dropped his crutches to the ground. 

“Mil-” Abruptly he was hugging him, tightly, as he muttered under his breath, “God, you’re okay, I’m so glad I found you, I’m so glad you’re okay-”

“Miles! Of course I’m alright, I’m fine, are you okay? Where’s Lisa, have you seen Lisa?”

“No, you haven’t seen her? Jesus christ, fuck, I should have known something like this would happen!”

“There’s no time for that, we’ll find her, but first-” He needed to get Miles out of here, he couldn’t be here right now, it wasn’t safe.

Screaming. Awful, bloodcurdling screaming from onstage. Miles let go of Waylon, slipping from his grasp, and ran as well as he could with only one good leg, but Waylon was terrified to let him go, terrified that if he let him out of his sight for even an instant that Eddie would take him away from him forever. He ran after him, screaming hoarsely at his back for him to stop.

“Miles, don’t, wait!” he shrieked, but as soon as they saw the scene onstage Miles froze so abruptly that Waylon ran into him. The audience was screaming in horror and flocking to the nearest exits as the entire cast and crew gathered, staring up at the corpse that now hung from the ceiling over centerstage. In his peripherals he saw ballerina’s dashing from the stage with spatters of blood on their dresses and all the noise made it twice as hard for Waylon to concentrate, to process, to wrap his mind around _who that was hanging from the ceiling_ …

And then Miles was screaming in agony and falling to his knees as the realization of who it was sent them both reeling. 

“NO…NO, I’LL KILL YOU…I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL-” Miles’ words dissolved into wails of grief as he doubled over on the floor of the stage and wrapped his arms around himself. The onlookers remaining cried out in surprise and fear as Chris’ body suddenly fell from the frayed rope that held it and dropped with a sickening, wet thump onto the hardwood below. Many of the remaining cast and crew that had gathered fled at this point while the rest stared on in shock and sorrow at the sight of Miles dragging himself to his feet, stumbling towards Chris’s disemboweled body, tripping halfway there, and finally tumbling back onto his knees where he stayed. Waylon ran to his side and fell beside him, clutching his sobbing form tightly as if he could hold the broken pieces of him together. He wrapped himself over him, cradling him as he closed his eyes tightly and cried into his shoulder blades, the force of Miles’ sobs shaking him gently up and down.

Somewhere in his grief it hit him then; they needed to get out of here. They needed to leave _now_. Waylon stood and grabbed Miles arm, his features contorted in anguish as he stared down at a much weaker, much more helpless person than he was used to seeing. 

“Miles! _Miles!_ We have to leave, we have to go, it’s not safe!”

“No!” Miles keened. “He fucking killed him, he fucking killed him…!”

“MILES!” he cried, using all his strength in an attempt to drag him to his feet. “We have to go!” 

At first there was nothing he could do to get him up. His body was completely limp and even using all his strength Waylon just couldn’t get a good enough grip on him to get him standing. He grunted with effort and gave another mighty tug, but it was useless if Miles didn’t snap out of it. He was trying not to panic, but the thought that Eddie could be watching them right now, knife in hand, had the blood pumping in his veins fast enough to make them burst.

“Miles, please,” he whimpered breathlessly. “Please! Get up, please, please, _please_!”

His pleas eventually struck enough of a chord in Miles that he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Waylon hoisted him up onto his shoulder and supported as much of his weight as he could, more to bear the weight of his grief than to take the weight off his injury, and staggered off of the stage towards the nearest exit. 

Once they’d both made it outside Waylon deposited Miles onto the grass and knelt beside him as Miles sprawled across the ground and covered his eyes with his hands. The small courtyard was quiet, dark, and deceivingly peaceful. There was a long period of silence between them that seemed to stretch on and on as Waylon listened to Miles’ muffled whimpers and sobs punctuating the darkness. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, he could hardly breathe when he asked himself, how could Eddie do something like this? He didn’t want to believe it, because believing it would mean that everything, everything they’d worked for, everything they were, was gone. And Miles, he was finally healing, maybe even tempted by the idea of moving on, and now?

Finally Miles spoke. 

“…do you think he suffered?” he choked as he lowered his arms out to the sides and stared up into the sky, tears leaking down from the corner of his eyes. Waylon raised his head a bit, but didn’t answer. There was another great silence and then…

“I’m so sorry, Miles,” he whimpered, letting out a few more soft sobs that echoed easily throughout the small courtyard. It was all his fault. He never meant for this to happen. 

“Why Chris…? Why him?” Miles muttered thickly as he sat up and buried his face in his hands again. Waylon knew why; because it would hurt Miles the most. Because Chris was disposable…because anyone that wasn’t Waylon was disposable.

“It’s my fault…s’my fault, I should have got us out of there a long time ago and he’d still be alive,” Miles sobbed.

Waylon’s stomach twisted with guilt. Miles was just an innocent victim in this, and yet he knew he could never convince him of that. He held the weight of the world on his shoulders and took responsibilities for all the world’s wrongs. It meant he had an incredibly strong moral compass, but a delicate sense of self-worth. 

“It’s not your fault, Miles…” He looked over at him sadly then scooted over closer to him and huddled into him. Miles immediately accepted him in, wrapping his arm around him and holding him tight like a child’s teddy bear. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Everything was so quiet and calm. Waylon buried his wet cheek into the soft fabric of Miles' shirt while Miles leaned his face into his hair and closed his eyes. They both wished they could just stay in this moment without having to think about the future, but there were so many things left unanswered.

“I thought I knew him, but you were right…you were right about everything, I’m such an idiot!” Waylon cried as he wrapped his arms around himself to occupy his trembling hands. He felt cold and empty and afraid, he had put everything he had into his feelings for Eddie, clinging to his faith in him and now it was as if he’d dropped him off a cliff into the ocean. It was almost palpable, the feeling of floundering for anything that would keep him from drowning and finding nothing, nothing- 

“Waylon,” Miles muttered softly, trying to pull him back as Waylon began to lose himself. 

“He wants you dead, it’s hopeless, there’s nothing we can do. He’ll kill you…” His voice broke off. He could feel himself becoming hysterical, but felt powerless to stop it or anything else that was happening. Somehow he’d lost control of everything…no, he’d never had control of anything to begin with: not the way he felt about Eddie, not over anything Miles did or said, and not control enough over the situation to prevent Chris’ death. “How could he do this, I was so wrong, I was so so wrong…who knows how many people he’s killed, who he’s still planning to kill. You can’t stay here…I can’t stay here, but if I don’t he’ll…god, anything, anything could happen…”

“He’s just a man, Waylon, calm down…there is so Phantom of the Opera. He’s a man and nothing more and he can be brought down like any other.”

“No! No, I don’t _want_ him brought down, you-” He wasn’t about to tell Miles, after all he’d suffered, that he wouldn’t let Eddie go to jail, but… “You need to leave before anything else happens.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Miles said sternly and Waylon knew he meant it. 

But he couldn’t leave Eddie, hell, even if he wanted to he doubted he ever could. Still, Miles’ words echoed loudly in his head. What would happen to Eddie now? Would he go to jail if they could catch him? Would Miles even go as far as to try to kill him if it meant he was protecting others, particularly if he was protecting Waylon? Even after everything…he couldn’t let that happen. 

“Just a man…” He let out a deep, shuttering breath and closed his eyes as he tried to imagine Eddie that way, just another person like any other rather than as an undeniable force of nature. 

“We can still leave,” Miles pleaded, “It would be so easy…we could take off now if you wanted and we’d never have to come back here or deal with any of this ever again!”

His words were both unthinkable and tempting. “Eddie…” he moaned into his hands mournfully.

Being with him for any amount of time had never felt like being with anyone else. It was blinding, suffocating, and so many of his memories of him conjured feelings that he never wanted to feel. He couldn’t deny any longer that he was terrified of him, now more than ever. He was unpredictable and violent, he was a murderer, and he was insane. Sometimes he wasn’t sure how much of reality Eddie was really able to grasp. When he’d taken his mask off for the first time he really thought that Eddie would kill him and possibly not even realize what he’d done until afterwards. At times Eddie had infuriated him as well, so intensely that he’d imagined his fingers wrapped around his neck. It was a wild rage that made him question whether or not he even really had any right calling himself a good person. There was unbearable despair at the idea of being without him, and this feeling now of heart break and hopelessness, like he would never be happy again. He never wanted to feel any of these things again so long as he lived, would do anything to not have to feel them again. 

…but would he trade the pain for the indescribable relief he felt just from being in Eddie’s presence? He’d have to give up the effortless bliss that came with being loved by him. It would mean never really feeling fully content or at peace, knowing that he could never get back the one thing that guaranteed that no matter what else happened he’d have all he needed. Loving Eddie made him feel invincible, like he was fulfilling his life’s purpose when he went on stage for him, like with him at his side he could always be himself, the truest and best version of himself. Never seeing him again would mean that he would never be free. And Eddie? Well, it would destroy him.

“I can’t,” he choked out, ignoring the cracked, unsteady sound of his voice, “I love him so much, I can’t leave him. He would be devastated…I would be devastated.” 

“I can’t either, Waylon,” he said, grinding his teeth as he turned towards him and gripped Waylon’s shoulders. “I can’t lose you, do you understand? I love you, Waylon. I have lost… _everything_ , but you. I’m not going anywhere without you…please. Way, please.” 

He stared at him vacantly for a long time. Love…was idiotic. It was dangerous. He was risking both their lives, everyone’s lives, by staying here. He closed his eyes, feeling as if all the life had suddenly left his body, and then finally, hardly knowing he was doing it, he nodded. He nodded until his head felt too heavy to hold up and then he leaned down and propped it on Miles’ shoulder. “Yes…yes….I’ll go.” 

Miles wrapped his arms around him and held him close as he ran his fingers soothingly through his hair. “It’s okay… it’ll be okay, Way, you’ll see…” He wasn’t oblivious to the sacrifice he was asking him to make, but he knew it was the right decision…the safest decision. 

They stayed huddled in the grass until any part of them exposed to the night air was so cold it was numb and then they made their way back inside, Miles with a heavy, painful limp in his stride. It wasn’t until they had both disappeared into the building that Eddie slipped out from the shadows of the gargoyle’s wing and gazed down from the roof into the courtyard below to ascertain they had left. 

He gasped for one deep, painful breath and then leaned back against the stone statue for support as if he could feel Waylon burying his hands inside him and tearing everything soft and vulnerable apart. 

He was leaving. He was really leaving him, but he couldn’t, it wasn’t possible, this wasn’t how it was _supposed to be_. No, no, no, it was all wrong, his darling wouldn’t leave him. His darling loved him, he wouldn’t leave him for anything; he knew that, but then he couldn’t explain away what he’d heard no matter how he tried to understand. Eddie never, ever would have left him, no matter what he did. There would never be a reason that he’d forsake Waylon, and yet he’d heard Waylon say that he wanted to leave him behind. He _wanted to believe_ that he was wrong, had to believe for the little bit of sanity he had left…but he couldn’t.

He slid down against the gargoyle’s side into a sitting position and stared vacantly at the lightless horizon. He felt some part of him screaming, but his body was frozen in place, limp and useless. He felt small and weak and helpless to stop the world from stealing the only thing he had left that was precious to him. Nothing, nothing good in his life had ever been given to him, but finally when Waylon had come along he’d understood that life didn’t have to hurt. It could be beautiful. He had the one thing that no one else could take away from him; he was in love. 

And he would continue to be in love long after Waylon disappeared…with _him_. He should have killed him in the beginning, Miles was always meant to fall in love with Waylon. He’d seen that from the start, but he never though that his darling would allow him to become between them. If he could choose Miles over him then he never really loved him in the first place and that was what hurt most of all.

“Darling…” he pleaded softly to the night. It was gone, it was all gone and yet he could still feel each kiss as he placed them tenderly across his face….his features twisted in anguish suddenly as he ripped his mask off with a cry of disgust and grief. It landed and shattered into unrecognizable fragments. “We could have…been beautiful…” 

The cold night air stung his eyes as he stared into the familiar darkness, the only thing he was ever left with when all was said and done. It was soothing. It made him realize how foolish he had been all this time to place all his faith in light and in love. Hopelessness was safe and he was grateful as it filled him now and became all he knew. The agony of his darling’s betrayal had found the last part of him that was whole and innocent, devouring it and leaving him feeling possessed with madness, both numb and burning, both absent and hyperaware. All was empty, all was cold, and for the last time he struggled on the surface until he couldn’t fight anymore. There was _no reason_ to fight anymore and there was no one left that loved or believed in him. His struggling ceased, a corpse sinking into a black ocean, devouring his essence without any evidence of the person he once was or could have been. He sank into the deepest most fearsome recesses of his vile mind and disappeared, not struggling, not resisting, but welcoming the hatred and inhumanity as a sweet reprieve. 

That didn’t mean he’d let him leave, oh no. His darling was nothing but a _little whore_ after all and he would get what was coming to him, but he wouldn’t be allowed to leave. 

He stood abruptly, squeezing his gloved hands so tightly that they shook. He would regret this. They all would, until their dying days they would curse that they had not done all he had asked of them. He would break them like his darling had broken his heart, and those who lived to tell the tale would never, ever disobey him again. 

 

 

 

The official announcement of Mount Massive’s closure came within the week and that was just fine with Waylon. The police would try to find the killer, but he knew they were wasting their time. They would never catch Eddie Gluskin. He would lay low for a while and when he thought it was safe enough he would be back. 

He wasn’t going to leave, not yet, not until he’d fulfilled his contractual obligations, the lease on his apartment was up, and he’d gotten up enough courage to tell Eddie that he was leaving. Yes…that would be the tricky part. He was under no illusion that he would be safe or that he could trust Eddie not to hurt him. He still, despite everything, didn’t think that he would hurt him, not really, but he was just unsure enough to make his stomach flip-flop whenever he considered the possibility. More importantly he was certain that no matter how it happened he would break Eddie’s heart. To hurt him as deeply as he was hurting now…he didn’t know if he had the strength to do it. 

But all of those things were so far down on his list of grievances with these recent turn of events. He was selfish, god he was so selfish it made him sick. The only credit he could give himself was that he had attended to Miles first, but as he expected Miles just wanted to be alone. Immediately after that however, as soon as he had left Miles’ apartment, he had returned to the theater, not the theater itself of course, but to the wing of the same building in which his apartment was located and proceeded to isolate himself as much as he possibly could. His phone was somewhere, he didn’t know where but probably in his apartment anyway, and it was most likely dead with at least a handful of missed calls and texts, for once not from Miles but from Lisa, Billy, maybe even Dennis, and definitely Trager and/or Frank to let him know what was going on or maybe see how he was doing. They didn’t even know about Eddie. They didn’t _even know_ that the world had ended. Oh, and that was right, he’d have to tell them good-bye as well eventually too.

His mornings, or more accurately afternoons, began with the daily struggle to get out of bed. If he managed it at all then the next battle to be won was getting off the couch. Thank god for take-out or he probably would have starved to death by now. Even a man Waylon’s size couldn’t live off condiments and tap water forever. 

He curled up in bed, even now trying desperately to fall back to sleep. Dreams were all he had of Eddie now. If he hadn’t been planning on leaving he still wouldn’t have been able to see him just to be safe. It wasn’t like it was something they’d talked about or established ahead of time, it was just that they both knew better than to contact one another when Eddie was wanted for murder and especially since now Waylon would be the first person they would be keeping an eye on to try to identify his whereabouts. Eddie wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that and Waylon wasn’t selfish enough to seek him out, but god he wanted to. Even if…well, even if he didn’t know what he would say to him when he saw him. Eddie would know something was wrong, in fact Waylon had fully considered the possibility that beyond that he might know their plan entirely. He could have even been watching…Eddie was always watching. 

At least, that’s what he’d thought before, and maybe he was just being paranoid, but as he stared into the darkness of his bedroom now… he felt completely and utterly alone for the first time he could remember since arriving at the theater. Today he couldn’t sense his presence, maybe he never even could sense it in the first place, all either wishful thinking or his fearful imagination depending on the circumstances. 

Regardless, the fact remained that he just couldn’t fall back to sleep and so he was faced with the knowledge that he had nothing to distract him from the vacancy Eddie had left. 

Fine. He wasn’t going to get that dream back. He kind of had to pee anyway so it was time to accept it and move on with his day, or…what was left of it. He glanced heavy-lidded at the violently blue numbers of his alarm clock and saw that it was 6:38 P.M. Begrudgingly, he pulled himself up out of his blanket and sheet cocoon. He glanced down, remembering that he wasn’t wearing pants, just boxers, and resisted the urge to flop back onto his side on the mattress; it counted so long as he changed positions, right?

Finally convincing himself to move to the bathroom, he went in, did what he had to do, and faced himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. In his humble opinion he looked like crap: lines on his face from where it had been smashed into the pillow, sandy blonde hair sticking up everywhere, and, oh look, how charming, a little bit of dried drool at the corner of his mouth. He thought about showering for, oh, about two seconds, and then proceeded to _not_ do that.

Although…he examined himself in the mirror more closely. He did look like he needed a shave. Eddie liked it when he shaved, and he liked it better too. Eddie himself was always perfectly clean shaven, so maybe it really was just preference and not about him looking less like a man.

And yet…

…yeah, the stubble had to go. 

He brushed his teeth first, but as he did so he got more and more to thinking about it and reconsidering that shower, just a quick one. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but he was going to take himself up on the offer before he missed the opportunity to take advantage of his sudden interest in better hygiene. Jeez, yah’d think it was like he was going on a date or something with all the thoughts he suddenly found running through his head. Maybe he was just feeling a little better today, it had been nearly a week since the day that Chris-

He stripped and got into the shower, turning the nozzle until the water was scalding and then climbing in. The room filled luxuriously with steam as he went through the usual routine, until a peculiar thought struck him. He wondered if- no, that’s ridiculous, he had never seen a man shave their legs before, not unless they were a swimmer which he certainly was not. 

By the time he’d finished everything else though the thought still hadn’t left his head. Let’s just….real quick, just shave around the ankle a little and see what it’s like, he was just _curious_ …

By the time he got out of the bathroom he had a whole new respect for what women had to go through and vowed never again in his whole life to judge anyone for what they did or didn’t do with their body hair. He never realized what a pain it was to shave your legs and when he started thinking about everywhere else women were expected to be hairless, well the whole thing sounded a little ridiculous frankly. And pain, he meant that quite literally. He thought he was being careful, he just wanted to do a good job, but the next thing he knew he’d given himself a little bit too close of a shave and a respectable amount of blood was staining the water around his feet. His legs would never look this smooth again. Ever. Too bad Eddie wasn’t here to appreciate it. He stuck toilet paper to the large number of various nicks and cuts on his face and legs until he felt like a mummy then he staggered out of the bathroom and sat on the couch with a heavy sigh. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, but didn’t want to get dressed until he was less…bloody. 

He slumped over on the couch and laid there, staring vacantly into space. What the hell was he doing? Sure, okay, so he wanted to look good for Eddie, but even that didn’t make sense. Eddie wasn’t here. He wasn’t going to be here until the hair grew back in all likelihood so what was the point? He wanted to believe that he did it because he might see Eddie, because he would like it, as if it were an apology, but deep down he knew he wouldn’t and he knew that wasn’t why he’d done it either. 

It was because he couldn’t stand the sight of it. The hair was disgusting, blanketing his body like fur. The very sight of it, the thought of what it would look like with the dress Eddie had made for him had been the reason for his sudden uncontrollable compulsion. He hated it. Hideous. He knew it had nothing to do with the situation he was in, nothing at all, it was the least important thing in the world and yet…oh, damn, he’d missed a spot. 

After about a half an hour he finally found himself dressed, perfectly hairless, and standing in his kitchen cooking a couple of eggs. He tried to ignore the way his day had been going so far…tried to ignore the reason behind it, not even allowing himself to think the word “crazy”. It wasn’t that weird. Not after the other things he’d seen, although he had to admit that at one point he’d thought Eddie was crazy for wanting to even put him in a dress. Now the thought didn’t seem so odd, I mean binary gender was just a societal construct anyway, it was just a piece of cloth. Eddie thought he would look good in a dress and maybe it was just everything that had happened lately, but he found himself romanticizing the idea of the sort of life that Eddie had wanted for them all along. 

He was disturbed that Eddie had killed a man and that so far, outside of mourning the emptiness Chris had left in their lives, all it had made him do was want to be with Eddie more. Him being a killer just for the sake of it wasn’t in and of itself an issue. That was what disturbed him. It was only wrong to him because he had killed someone he loved, a good guy that obviously didn’t deserve it. And of course…he would lose Eddie too. Those were the only things that mattered to him. With a twinge of guilt he wondered whether or not Miles would be so gung-ho about Eddie murdering Jeremy if it had been a stranger and frankly, he doubted it. He’d have to ask him, not that exactly, but he’d like to have a heart-to-heart with him, for his own sake, in search of a little moral guidance because he was starting to wonder if he even had any morals. He’d always thought that he was a good person, but now he no longer thought he had any such right. 

He made quick work of his food and then threw himself down on the couch, examining his very soft and feminine legs with a reproachfulness that only Miles’ talents would have been able to match. I mean, alright, if he was honest with himself they looked pretty good, he admitted internally with a heavy sigh. 

Now the only question left was how he would distract himself from ever encroaching insanity until the funeral tomorrow. 

 

 

 

The mourners were plentiful around Chris’s casket as it hovered over the open grave. As the eulogist spoke Waylon couldn’t stop staring at the portrait that sat atop his coffin, just above where his head would be underneath layers of polished wood and satin. He looked so young in the photo, standing next to his previously deceased youthful wife and infant son, so happy and proud, clean-shaven and hair shorter than ever as he posed in his marine’s uniform with one arm around his wife. She was pretty and freckled, a flaming red-head with soulful mahogany eyes. He was sure they’d been an excellent couple. It was hard to believe that he’d suffered so much in his short life and yet he was the most kind and jovial man Waylon had ever met.

It had been a closed casket affair. 

He stood beside Miles who was squeezing his hand so tightly his fingertips had gone numb, but Miles was silent and stone-faced as tears fell swiftly down his cheeks. He wore a beautiful black suit of the highest quality and an army green tie in Chris’s honor. It was a thoughtful touch that instantly made Waylon’s throat tighten upon sight when he’d arrived.

The entire cast and crew from the show was there, but beyond that he couldn’t even have begun to imagine who all the other people were standing around them, filling his vision on all sides and blocking out everything else, even the green of the grass beneath their feet. Chris had a large family, and men and women of the military sporting their uniforms seemed constantly close at hand. Chris had received full Military Funeral Honors, of which prior to this day Waylon had no comprehension of. It was a painfully beautiful ceremony that left him breathless.

His eyes glanced vacantly over the people closest to them: Lisa, tears glistening on her dark cheeks in the sunlight, looked as beautiful as ever, her girlfriend pressing her tightly to her side, Billy, Dennis, Simon, Marissa and Selena, two of the girls he recognized from the choir, one of which he was sure had maintained a severe crush on Chris for at least several seasons now. And at last his eyes wandered reluctantly onto Chris’s mother and father, although immediately he’d wished they hadn’t. He already knew the wails of grief were coming from his mother, he’d seen her making that sound as they walked into the church service, but seeing her husband struggling to hold her up as she sobbed into his arms was like a blow to the gut, making him almost nauseas with dread and regret. It was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget, something he would see featured in his nightmares throughout the following weeks and then gradually only every once in a while for years to come.

Behind them stood several other family members; he could tell they were family because they looked like Chris, blonde strapping men and women that all would have towered over him should they have stood shoulder to, well, mid-torso, with Waylon. Even one prominent figure, muscular in his impeccable and expensive looking suit, seemed to resemble Chris despite the fact that his face was hidden beneath a hood to guard his tear stained face from the cold wind that whipped through the cemetery. Waylon thought it was fitting that the weather was unseasonably chill, that the sun only danced in and out from behind the clouds. Still, his mind coaxed from him absurdly as it sought any minor distraction from the grim reality that surrounded him, the black cloak the man wore was oddly old-fashioned. He’d assumed it was his brother, but now that he thought about it he was pretty sure he didn’t have one, and taking the cloak into account it was more likely that it was an uncle or even his grandfather. There was no way to tell if he couldn’t see his face. 

It was impossible to concentrate on any one thing for long as his mind continued to select random sights in the crowd for him to focus on, irrelevant memories and thoughts triggered by words in the eulogy. He tried to concentrate on memories of Chris, tried to think about the sort of good times they’d had that he knew he’d want him to be remembering, but all he could see was blood as it dribbled from his empty shell onto the hardwood of the stage. All he could feel was blinding grief, the thought over and over again that it wasn’t _fair_ that anyone so young and good, someone that was happy, someone that was loved and that loved so much had to die when there were so many people out there that deserved it, that were hateful and terrible, that could have died instead. Waylon was an orphan, if he had died it wouldn’t have brought nearly as much suffering, he thought with self-loathing. It just wasn’t right, it was fucked up what he was thinking, but he just couldn’t stand it, _why did this have to happen?_

When the service was over and many of those in attendance began to leave he hung back with Miles who seemed unable to make himself walk away just yet. Soon they were two of just a handful that remained, but not Mr. and Mrs. Walker, unable as they were to take the sight of their son being placed into the ground. A few members of Chris’ family lingered behind with them, seemingly unaware of their presence.

It was then that his eyes caught once more on the sight of the broad man in the cloak as he turned to leave, but… he still couldn’t quite see his face. He found himself wondering again at who he was and thought that maybe, if he could just see his face…

“I’m going, but...” Miles said quietly. “Sorry, I just…can I have a minute?” Waylon nodded, stood on his tiptoes and kissed Miles’ cheek softly before walking off into the cemetery. He trailed after the man from several yards back, he didn’t want it to _seem_ like he was following him. Hell, he didn’t even know what he expected, what it was he was trying to do, maybe he was crazy, maybe he was going to feel like such an idiot, but he looked like…well, his silhouette _reminded him_ of Eddie…it was stupid, it was so stupid, of course it _wasn’t_ Eddie, but if he could just see his face he would know for sure…that it wasn’t…

Maybe he was imagining it, but it seemed like the man had sped up, purposefully, to avoid him, why would he do that? Why would he do that unless…

“He-…” he cleared his throat and tried again, quickening his pace. “Hey…excuse me!” he called out gently…but the man didn’t stop. Waylon’s heart sunk in his chest and his pulse began pounding in his ears, he was avoiding him, he was trying to get away from him on _purpose_. “Hey! Hey, wait!” he yelled, stepping up his pace to a light jog. Just then he felt someone grabbing him from behind.

“Hey, hey, Way, what are you doing?”

“That…that guy! That guy!” he cried and tried to shove Miles off of him although he clearly wasn’t intent on lessening his grip even a fraction. He could tell something was seriously wrong, and so he held on tightly as Waylon growled and struggled harder. “Let go!”

“Waylon,” Miles said more firmly, wrapping his arms securely around his waist. “What are you doing, you’re acting crazy!” 

He didn’t want to say it, he didn’t want to say what he was thinking for fear of sounding just as crazy as he looked, but he couldn’t hold it back. In his desperation the words, they just ripped out of him without his consent.

“No…no…EDDIE! Eddie, it’s Eddie…! That guy, Miles, let _go_ of…ahh!” His voice dissolved into incoherent screams and as he fell to the ground he slowly began to realize that maybe, just maybe he was having a psychological breakdown. Why would Eddie be here, when he’d never even seen him leave the theater, to attend the funeral of the man he’d murdered and stand amongst his family, gambling that no one would recognize him? 

_‘But then again,’_ Waylon thought, _‘I’m the only that even knows what he looks like. And I did, I did recognize him, I know it was him!’_

“Eddie!” he shrieked into empty air as Miles slowly loosened his grip on him, recognizing that the threat of him actually running off had minimized as he seemed unable to stand. He stared down at him, feeling pity like he'd never felt before.

Miles didn’t know what to do, he was just screaming and screaming, yelling Eddie’s name, and then even once he’d stopped he couldn’t get him to move. Waylon just crouched there tearing absently at the grass in his fingers, sobbing and mumbling unintelligibly. He tried to get him to stand and go home, but he shouted at him and struggled until Miles was forced to allow him to drop back to the ground. He’d kill Eddie…he’d kill him for doing this to Waylon. 

Finally after an eternity, Waylon suddenly turned his head and looked at Miles who was still there hovering at his side with his arms around him protectively. He didn’t blame Waylon…he didn’t blame him for shedding tears over Chris’ killer, kneeling paces away from his grave. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t help it, that he was a victim of Eddie’s as much as Chris was, and so he held him close, stroking his hair, and never even thinking to say a thing about it. This was Waylon’s way of mourning. He knew that. 

“…it was him…” Waylon finally choked out softly, breaking the long silence as he stared vacantly in Miles’ direction. “…I know…I know it was him…” Miles nodded in response and rubbed his back. Another long silence. “Eddie was here…he didn’t think I’d see him, but I did, I did see him…” “It’s okay, Way, it’s okay…let’s get you home, okay?” 

Waylon nodded slowly as he turned his gaze back to the ground. “Yeah…home,” Waylon muttered. Home. _Home is where the heart is,_ Waylon thought, only barely suppressing laughter as he imagined the phrase scrawled across the warehouse wall in blood. 

_Home is where the heart is._


	11. Are You Ready To Begin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are You Ready to Begin? The map work is finally laid out. Decisions have to be made, but the only one that can make them isn't sure he's ready. Soon he'll have to be, but for now, for your pleasure, a twisted descent into madness that will make him, break him, or both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little gore, I dunno, I think it's kinda gross lol be warned.

Waylon bolted through blood smeared hallways in a state of hysteria, tearing through mannequins fashioned in luxurious gowns that seemed to snag purposefully on his naked body in order to slow him down. As he brushed by them they caught on his limbs like a sentient creature, dragging him back toward his pursuer. He cried out in panic, ripping his limbs away in a flurry of motion. Rising clumsily to his feet, he stumbled into a wedding dress and sent them both toppling to the floor, but as he scrambled to his feet once again he found that he was now wearing it. Not sparing a single thought of skepticism, he gathered the skirts in his fists and ran for his life. He wanted to scream for help, but knew no one could help him. Even when he shouted he couldn’t hear himself over a song that seemed to mute all competing sounds, sung in an an alluring, devilishly sweet voice that called him seductively back to its source.

_“When I was a boy my mother often said to me…”_

He was losing his will to fight with every step, there was no point in running anymore. He tore through a doorway into the auditorium of a theater where, with a shock of relief and dread, he found everyone gathered. Miles, Lisa, Dennis and Billy, Trager and Frank. He opened his mouth to scream, for help or to warn them of the impending danger he wasn’t sure.

_“Get married son and see…how happy you will be…”_

No, he thought suddenly, and shut his mouth as he felt his lip tremble, a physical demonstration of the aftershocks of disappointment that were shaking him to his core. He wasn't really safe, he could never be safe. He had to save them, all of them. Begging them to help him would only put them in harm’s way, the only thing the Phantom wanted was him, if he just _stopped fighting…_

_“I have looked all over, but-”_

His vision seemed to skip as he peered into the theater and the scene before his eyes abruptly changed. Everyone in the middle of performing a show, Miles in the audience straddling Chris’s corpse as he moaned and his hands disappeared where Waylon couldn’t see them. Lisa singing a beautiful aria, and just underneath it the mournful wail of a woman, although he couldn’t find its source. 

No…no, it was okay. He was happy. The best thing he could do was give himself over to the Phantom of the Opera and all would be as it should. Everyone would be safe. It was what he wanted. It was what they all really wanted, they didn’t need him. 

_“I shall have to look around until the right one I have…found…”_

Waylon looked on helplessly as strong, gloved hands gripped his arms and jerked him back into an embrace. The door of the theater shut and everything was so dark that he didn’t even know where he was, but it didn’t matter. He could feel a presence looming over him, Eddie’s presence, and he sank into it with the greatest feeling of satisfaction he had ever known. Finally giving up control, finally no longer running away. Peace. There was freedom to be had in total domination. He had never felt such bliss. He was afraid, but it was an exhilarating fear, a relieving reprieve from the fear that came from worrying about others, about what fate might befall his friends should he disobey. No matter what happened to him they would be safe, and he felt safe knowing that. He knew Eddie would keep him safe. 

He would please him, would stand as his plaything, his wife, his lover, his puppet, all things the things Waylon had wanted to be in the first place before it all got so out of control, and he would never again have to worry about escape, or punishment, or the perceptions of others. He was…a goat for the vengeful god, and so long as he was happy with that nothing had to hurt. Did he want this? Or was he just afraid of what his life would become if he didn’t? He could take his situation, take Eddie, and ignore the bad to allow himself to be happy, or he could be miserable with Eddie. The was no third option, no option without Eddie altogether and even if there was one he wouldn’t have wanted it anyway; that was part of his sickness. He genuinely wanted this, but even when he didn’t want it…well, he had to want it. So he supposed the answer was….both. 

He was killing two birds with one stone. He could get what he wanted and do what was right at the same time. Of course, of course, it was _perfect._ He sunk back into the warmth of Eddie’s chest with a groan of relief as tears slipped down his face.

He followed, reverent and hypnotized as Eddie lead him by the hand through a dark, unfamiliar place. He looked back at him now and then, coaxing him with a soft, familiar song, one he often sang that instantaneously conjured images in his mind of his tough but gentle hands sewing, Waylon’s favorite smile, and the warm, clean smell that often clung to his hair and clothes. Eddie was luring him deeper into the labyrinth until he was completely lost, whispering to him promises of the life they would have together someday soon, when all of this foolish agony was over and done with…when it was all decided. He would be his bride, they would always be together, and all of Eddie’s desires would become a reality with Waylon at his side. He stopped and lifted him by the waist onto the buzzsaw table then took his face in his hands and kissed him passionately as Waylon, still in his wedding dress, leaned into him as an expression of utter trust and adoration. Let anyone see such a scene and tell him he was crazy, it didn’t matter; he knew now what he was ashamed for not having known all along. Eddie would never hurt him. Nothing that anyone else thought mattered, they weren’t here now, it was just the two of them and if he wanted to leave his life in Eddie’s hands then he would and there wasn’t a thing Miles or anyone else could do about it. 

“Yes…yes, darling, that’s right…” Eddie cooed, proud of his darling’s resolve and then cupped his face tenderly in one strong hand, urging him closer. Waylon wrapped his smooth, bare legs around his waist and sighed feverishly. He couldn’t fight it, he wouldn’t fight it. He closed his eyes and surrendered his senses to the dark where they were heightened and weightless.

“Yes…” Eddie murmured breathlessly, “Abandon your defenses…so many ways to hide yourself from me, darling…don’t fight…don’t be afraid…” He wasn’t…he wasn’t afraid. Eddie would never, ever hurt him, he understood that now as he laid him back on the blood stained surface of the table. He settled over him, running his hands hungrily over his body, sliding the pure white skirt up over his thighs and then at last catching his mouth in another ravenous kiss. He wanted him to take him there on the same surface where all his nightmares took place. It would lend precious evidence to the realization that he’d never been in any danger. He wanted to send a message to the universe that whatever Eddie had done or would do that he would still love him and that his feelings would never change, and he _wasn’t ashamed_ of that. 

…and then he was gone. Waylon was alone. He sat up abruptly and looked around, but there was no light to see by, not without him there. Alone in the dark he felt chilled to the bone. There were so many pleasant sensations and emotions the darkness allowed him to experience more fully when Eddie was with him…but when he wasn’t…

“Eddie…Eddie!” he called out into the dark. Find him quickly, he had to find him. He suddenly glanced down, noticing a single glimmer of light glancing off the sharp, silver saw blade between his legs. Yes, yes, that was it. His hands ran frantically over the sides of the table until he found it, the switch to set everything in motion. Without a single hesitation he pressed it and was immediately thrown into a whirlwind of sound as the saw kicked back to life. He reached down, grabbed the end of a length of rope that began somewhere he couldn’t see, and pulled, drawing himself towards the blade. Yes…yes…! This was like a dream he’d had once before, but this time, this time he wouldn’t fight it, he wouldn’t make Eddie wait for him, he would do it himself and it would bring him back. It had to bring him back.

When the deed was done he rolled weakly off of the table and felt the warmth of his own blood spilling wetly over his thighs and trickling in streams down over his knees and ankles. He ignored the pain and the fog encroaching on his mind and stumbled into the dark, feeling his way through debris-filled hallways, and hearing music all around, but unable to find where it was coming from. 

He flailed his arms about haphazardly, reaching into the darkness and screaming Eddie’s name as his body, weak from blood loss and pain, began to fail him, and when he awoke Waylon found himself laying in his bed pawing desperately at his sheets, his nightmare bleeding flawlessly into reality and just like that he was awake. Realizing it was a nightmare, and yet that at the same time none of it was really _only_ a dream, he moaned and sobbed into his pillow until he fell back to sleep, hoping that at least in his next bout of nightmares that the part where he was with Eddie would last a little longer. 

 

 

 

Luckily Miles’ method of grieving was to isolate and to reject sleep, and so Waylon found himself entirely alone for the majority of the next month just like he wanted. The more Miles stayed away from him, and from the theater, the safer he would be. 

It wasn’t long until somehow the police got word of Waylon’s connection to this supposed “Phantom of the Opera” that was being accused of Chris’s murder and so before he knew it they were knocking on his door and pulling him in for questioning. He returned home late that evening and slumped through the door then lay on the couch feeling broken and sick to his stomach with guilt. Almost immediately, as if having a sixth sense, Miles texted him, but Waylon didn’t look at it. 

About a week later Miles finally got himself to leave the house and pay a visit to Waylon’s apartment. Upon answering the door, Miles immediately noticed that something was very wrong, or at least that somehow Waylon was fairing even worse than he had been. He had already made a mental note that Waylon hadn’t grabbed the mail from the mailbox outside his door, but seeing him now brought the whole sorry picture together. He couldn’t understand, of course Chris and Waylon had been friends, but Waylon was tough and they hadn’t been quite so close to begin with, and yet here Waylon stood looking like…this. 

He stared at Miles with red, vacant eyes, underlined by deep, black bags. His sandy hair was greasy and sticking up every which way as if he’d just crawled out of bed. He reeked, I mean reeked, so much so that for just a moment Miles was actually impressed with his ability to work up such a funk, he must not have changed his clothes in at least a week, and in fact he had not, not since he’d gotten back from the police station. But he wasn’t amused in the least, especially not when Waylon opened his mouth to greet him and could barely talk his throat was so dry and sore. Miles quickly made his way into the apartment without so much as a word and with the utmost care and attention lead Waylon gently to the couch where he made him sit. 

Glancing around Miles could see that Waylon hadn’t cleaned a single thing any time recently. There was a Chinese takeout container on the floor mostly empty but crusted and beginning to mold, complete with a side of rice that was so hard and dry it was like it had never been cooked in the first place. Waylon, who was usually quite hygienic and tidy, was living in a dump covered in laundry, trash, dishes and god only knows what else. The windows were shut and had the blinds drawn over them so that the only source of light in the whole joint was a single, dim lamp. I mean, he didn’t care whether Waylon wanted to be a slob or not, but he had a feeling it was all the result of hardly moving, likely not eating or drinking enough, and sleeping very little. All signs of something weighing on him that he couldn’t possibly understand. He was mourning, but there was something more sordid going on here altogether. 

And yet all of this was somehow still secondary to one nagging observation that Miles just couldn’t make heads or tails of, but that disturbed him more than anything else. Waylon’s face was perfectly clean shaven, perfectly hairless, and covered in nicks and cuts. His legs, he noticed due to the fact that he was only wearing boxers, were in a similar state. He’d shaved them too thoroughly to the point where he had long wounds up and down his shins and ankles in places he’d pressed too hard with the razor and scraped off strips of skin. There were old scabs as well as fresh cuts that were still bleeding, some with toilet paper stuck to them, others openly bleeding and staining the white cuffs of his socks. None of the cuts or scrapes were too severe, but they were plentiful and clearly the result of an obsessive compulsion to remove every last hair from his body…he wondered what the places he couldn’t see looked like. 

Waylon hardly looked at him as Miles took him in his hands one body part at a time and carefully looked him over as worry shone in his eyes. He noticed that Waylon seemed ashamed, anxious, avoiding his gaze as if Miles would yell at him any second and frankly he was thinking about it. But…he just didn’t have the heart to. Instead he got up and brought him some water then made him drink it like he was feeding milk to a baby cow. Waylon conceded without protest, but before Miles could even begin to question him he’d begun to cry. He didn’t make a sound, only stared blankly at the floor as tears trailed down his cheeks and dripped thickly from his chin. Miles had a feeling that this was a common occurrence, so much so that he may not have even realized he was crying.

Finally, Miles could only think of one thing to say. “Waylon? What the hell is going on?”

There was a long pause. 

“…g-…ghosts.”

Miles stared at him, uncomprehending. Jesus, he’d finally lost it. “Ghosts?” Waylon nodded and glanced at him before licking his chapped lips as his eyes darted away again.

“I told them…it was…just a ghost story…that he isn’t real.” He leaned forwardly weakly and buried his face in his hands as he continued in a breathless, disbelieving voice. “When they asked m-me… I t-told them it was just. ghosts. That people think the theater is _haunted._ That’s what _I told them_ ….” He shook his head back and forth as he doubled over, clutching his head in his hands. “I told them it was ghosts. That the ph-phantom isn’t… _r-real._ I didn’t tell them….I didn’t _tell them_ about…him. I should have told them, I should have told them, I sh-should, but I c-c-can’t, Miles.” He abruptly dissolved into uncontrollable sobs and began rocking back and forth in place. Jesus christ…Miles grabbed him and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him and resting his chin on his head affectionately. He didn’t give a damn about whether or not he’d showered, who fucking cared, it was so trivial that it didn’t even occur to him. All that mattered was Waylon.

When he’d at least eased himself into some fragile semblance of calm, Waylon sniffled and promptly got the hiccups. God, like a fucking puppy or something, he was so cute. Miles got him to drink the rest of his water then smoothed his hair back and looked at him sternly. 

“Waylon. This is not your fault.”

It took at least five minutes for him to get him to stop crying again enough to listen. He took his face in his hands and made him look at him.    
“Waylon…Waylon.” He gently ran his thumb over his flushed cheek, still damp with tears. “It’s not your fault, Waylon, you didn’t kill Chris. You can’t help that you want to protect Eddie, no matter how I or anyone else feels about it, that’s not going to change.” He paused. “If you murdered someone, I would protect you.” 

Waylon composed himself enough to pull back, wipe his face clean on his shirt, and then look up at him in embarrassment and surprise. “No you wouldn’t, you- …..” his voice faded away at the solemn look on Miles’ face. 

“I would,” he stated unshakably, making Waylon blush and look back at the floor. He might as well have just proclaimed his love for him. “You’re just doing the same for Eddie…you’re not a bad person, Way, you’re not.”

Waylon sniffled again as he mulled his words over with a heavy heart. Miles watched him, and kept the rest of that thought to himself. Waylon thought he was in love the phantom. Miles thought he was so afraid of Eddie that he thought he was in love with him, that he would do anything to be in love with him because it was what Eddie wanted and so long as he gave Eddie what he wanted, there would be no trouble. For all intents and purposes, he believed that the Phantom had essentially succeeded in _forcing_ Waylon to fall in love with him, but that kind of false infatuation would shatter the second it was put to a real test. He just had to come up with a way to test it, and really hadn't their love failed already? Waylon had agreed to leave with him, after all. How much could he really love Eddie if he would break his heart and flee from him?

But he couldn’t know how deeply Waylon had come to love Eddie before he’d learned to fear him, first as a mentor, then as a friend and finally as…this, whatever sick creature they were now. He couldn’t know how much Waylon already regretted the decision to leave him…how much time he spent flip-flopping between the two opposing sides, one day wondering how to tell Eddie he was going, and the next how to tell Miles that he wasn’t. The only person that had any real idea what was going on was Waylon, and he had no idea what was going on. Even Eddie who seemed to have absolute control over everything and everyone couldn’t know what Waylon would do. 

After a long period of silence as they both thought things over, and once Waylon was sure he wasn't going to cry again, he let himself speak. “Miles, I…” he played with the bottom of his shirt in his hands anxiously. “…do you…do you think killing is…wrong? Just killing, yah know, in general…stealing someone’s life…taking away their right to exist…but what if they murdered someone? Then is it okay to murder _them_?” 

He had no idea what he was trying to get at, but… “Well, yeah, I think killing is bad. I’m cool with the death penalty if it seems like it’ll stop someone from killing again, but pretty much, yeah, it’s wrong…” He narrowed his eyes at him in confusion. “…why?”

“I mean…just…” Waylon sighed heavily and sank back into the couch as he tried to figure out how to word this without sounding like a potential serial killer. “What about when it comes to bad people? Like okay, hypothetically what if someone only killed bad guys, like, a superhero in a comic book or something. Some of them kill people and everyone thinks it’s great.” He glanced at Miles and could quickly tell that this conversation wasn’t going well. He looked suspicious, uneasy, and ready to disagree with him, and so he quickly added, “I mean, yeah, of course, I think it’s bad too, but it’s just that I don’t think killing somebody is… _always_ as bad as killing somebody else…” 

“…that’s stupid, Waylon. That somebody might be a bad guy to you, but to someone else he could be their whole world.” 

“Like Eddie.” He looked back at Miles and for a moment they just stared at one another as Waylon wondered whether or not Miles wanted to hit him, or if he was just picturing Eddie’s face. 

“…no, not-”

“Yes, like Eddie,” he interrupted, causing Miles to sigh so heavily that he could tell even once he’d run out of air that he would have kept sighing if he could have. Finally, Miles gave in after a long, aggravated silence. His whole world, huh? That didn’t feel too good, even if he already knew it was true. 

“Yeah, okay, I suppose. Like…Eddie,” he muttered with disgust ready in his voice. “You know, Chris is the one six feet under, not Eddie, so I don’t know why you’re still so-” As soon as he looked into Waylon’s eyes he instantly regretted his words. If he could have taken them back he would have in a heartbeat, he could feel how badly they’d hurt him as he watched with self-loathing and saw Waylon slowly crumple from within, caving into himself like Chris' hallowed corpse had. 

“You’re right…” he muttered quietly. 

“No, no, Way, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “…you’re right…I’m pining over Eddie and he’s the one that murdered Chris…and now I’m defending his killer.”

Miles stayed silent. He couldn’t argue with that. 

But Waylon couldn’t explain himself. How could he say that he was protecting them by allowing himself to obsess over Eddie? Miles wouldn’t understand. He would say there was another way, he would stop him from trying to save them, he might even say that he was being selfish because a part of him _was_ being more selfish than he could even stand to think about. But he didn’t think there was another way, even if he was capable of betraying Eddie for what he’d done he was sure they wouldn’t catch him. They underestimated him, although he suspected they wouldn’t for much longer. Look at what happened to Chris, he thought, how could Miles think talking to the police would be a good idea? And if they didn’t catch him? Eddie would go after Miles next and he…he couldn’t. 

No, if he said anything about it Miles would stop him, and then it wouldn’t work. If Miles believed he was simply sick with his love for Eddie…believed that he just cared more about him than he did about Chris or Miles, or even just assumed he’d gone completely crazy…then he could protect them. 

And yet even as he thought this through in what he considered to be a perfectly sane way he was unaware that he had already begun to lose himself to Eddie’s game. Finding a reason for Waylon to give himself permission to love him was just the beginning. Even though he told him he had no need to be afraid, for now his fear was the key to his own freedom, but after that? When all was said and done he could finally be sure that Waylon would never, ever try to leave him again. 

Waylon covered his face with one hand and closed his eyes. “…I’m sorry.”

They spent the afternoon together as Miles practically dragged Waylon from room to room, forcing him to clean and take care of himself. He didn’t want to push him too hard, but he wanted to know that when he left Waylon would still be alive by the time he returned the following week. Freshly showered, but forbidden from shaving, Waylon stared at himself in the mirror once Miles had gone, leaving with promises on his lips of regularly calling someone to deliver take out to his house whether he liked it or not just so that he knew he wasn’t starving himself to death. He’d already shaved today and he couldn’t in good conscience say that any hair remained and yet the urge was still there, also in spite of the fact that his cuts stung freshly from the beating they’d received from the shower. 

At last he managed to force himself from the bathroom mirror and out into the living room, then to the kitchen. Eddie, when he had visited him in his apartment, had often seemed to favor his kitchen. For the last several days if he even glanced in the direction of the kitchen he was struck by the sudden desire to cook, not because he wanted to eat, his stomach was perpetually tied into knots, but because he had the ridiculous notion that Eddie might show up. He spent his time fantasizing about cooking for him the way he imagined a little old Italian grandmother would when she wasn’t busy pouring food over her grandchildren, and he didn’t have the faintest idea why. He liked to cook, but not that much and not when he wasn’t hungry. 

He meandered through the kitchen haplessly and paused to glance into the garbage can, remembering the flowers he’d thrown there once, the ones Miles had given him. Not an hour ago Miles had offered to take the trash out for him while he washed what little dishes were in the sink. He paused and then finally allowed his eyes to glance over to the table. Miles had tried to convince him to trash the long dead bouquet of roses that still sat there in the center, grabbing them and nearly tossing them on his own while claiming it was “silly to keep them, they’re friggin’ dead, Way,” but quickly stopping when Waylon nearly had a full-fledged meltdown and finally told him they were from Eddie. He’d been too embarrassed to explain the reason for wanting to keep the flowers at first, but the sight of Miles touching them, trying to get rid of them made him panic and by the time he’d come back to his senses and Miles had gotten him to stop screaming he’d forgotten why he’d started in the first place…but he remembered now.

He went over and with the greatest care reached out and ran his fingertips along the smooth glass of the vase. A few crisp petals had fallen to the floor, but it was fine now. He’d made Miles put them back, he remembered vaguely as the sound of his own voice screaming PUT THEM BACK PUT THEM BACK echoed distantly in his ears. He smiled. They were so beautiful, how could he get rid of them? And after all they were a gift, it would be rude to throw them away. 

Calmed by the sight of Eddie’s thoughtful gift, Waylon made his way over to the table, sat down, and closed his eyes. He contemplated what he would make for Eddie’s dinner if he were here, wondered what his favorites were. He imagined the color of the apron he would wear, trying to decide what it would look like in order for it to match his dress. His favorite color was green, but decided as usual that Eddie would probably like it if he wore a feminine color, and so he wore something lavender, his second favorite color. Yesterday it had been pink, so that wouldn’t do. He’d cook something like a mother might have made for him as a child if he’d had one, probably a casserole or chicken breasts or something like that. Yesterday he’d made chicken pot pie, but Eddie had been starving as usual and so there weren’t any leftovers in the fridge. Oh, that’s right, he’d make a casserole since they’d already had chicken yesterday. 

Waylon sat alone in the dark kitchen into the evening, not moving an inch, until the doorbell rang. He blinked slowly and then after a long pause he finally rose and went to the door feeling heavy and dazed, his body aching from holding one position for so long, or.. no, because he’d been so active bustling about in the kitchen. A pizza man greeted him at the door….ah…eight o’clock already? Miles had promised him a delivery, he was so sweet, but he hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. He took the food, already tipped and paid for, and brought it into the kitchen. It was an awesome arrangement: pizza, breadsticks, wings, a cookie pizza, and a liter of root beer, but…he’d just had dinner so unfortunately he wasn’t very hungry. He figured it would be a great lunch for tomorrow though and so he began putting it all in the fridge, whistling the tune that so often lately frequented his nightmares and wondering whether or not Eddie liked pizza. He had to like pizza, everyone liked pizza, right? But that was okay, even if he didn’t; they had leftover casserole. 

 

 

 

 

It had been a month since the theater was shut down and for the first time since its closing the cast and crew had gathered in the auditorium before the stage, huddled in a circle around Frank and Trager as they all anxiously awaited their speech. Everyone was there, even Miles, not just as a guest but as an obligatory member of the cast. His leg was finally healed enough that he could return to work, even if he wasn’t able to take on the lead, lacking the same stamina and mobility he once had that such roles required. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; the Phantom had already determined the perfect role for him, although they didn’t know it yet. 

Waylon perched on the edge of the stage next to Lisa, wanting to sit because he was tired. Although he’d managed to clean himself up he hadn’t managed to get much sleep. She was talking to him cheerfully as he smiled and nodded along and tried to pretend like everything was going to be okay. His hands gripped tensely at the lip of the stage beneath him. He hated that they were going to do shows here again, he knew they were, you couldn’t just abandon a nearly two-hundred year old, historic building just because someone had died there. Chris wasn’t the first and he wouldn’t be the last, he suspected, especially if they continued on like this. He wanted to scream at them all to leave, but there was nothing he could do, nothing any of them could do really. They were _all_ under the Phantom’s spell, whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not. Even Miles, he thought, as he stared at the back of his head, watching the muscles in his jaw work tightly as he gnawed at the inside of his cheek. He would never so long as he lived admit that he was firmly in the Phantom’s control, but of course he was, what with Waylon playing the role of the bait. He wondered why none of them could see it. They could sense that _he_ knew, he could feel the questions behind their eyes that none of them dared to ask. 

So like sheep to the slaughter they gathered here now, chatting in hushed voices and not so hushed voices until finally Trager began to speak, making Waylon’s stomach clench nervously. 

“Welcome back, everyone,” Trager began, clapping his hands together briskly, “Thank you all for coming, I know a lot of you probably aren’t too happy about being back here after the tragedy that occurred.” He paused solemnly, all eyes on him as the room was engulfed briefly in silence. “But the show must go on, right? If you don’t wish to continue your contract, speak to me after. You will not be penalized if you choose to leave, but I do encourage you all to stay. Every last one of you is a valued member of this team…we’re a family. And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to put on the show of a lifetime. We’ll take back this theater and we’ll do it in style.” Waylon closed his eyes, inwardly groaning as a small wave of soft applause worked its way around the crowd. Eddie wouldn’t like that kind of talk. Take back the theater? He hoped he meant, yah know, metaphorically from the negative energy that currently consumed it or…something…hopefully they had learned their lesson about what happened when someone tried to challenge the Phantom. Waylon certainly had. 

He continued. “Yeah, that’s the spirit. That being said…I wanna take a moment to say this. As you know Chris Walker’s death is still being investigated as a murder, and in my opinion they’re not any closer to catching the killer than they were before they knew Chris Walker’s name. So. If anyone knows anything at all about the case I encourage you to help the coppers out. They need your help…and if no one says anything we may never know what happened. So please…speak out if you have anything to say, and your old buddy Trager is always here to talk.”

Waylon’s skin burned under the many glances that turned his way at the conclusion of Trager’s speech until he thought he would dissolve under their venomous, prying stares. He focused his eyes determinedly on the floor with a blank expression on his face as he felt Lisa cover his hand with hers and gently squeeze it. Bless her. But it did nothing to help him ignore the scandalized whispers. “Waylon Park…” “He knows the Phantom,” “This is all his fault, how can he just sit there and not say anything?” “Do you think the Phantom really did it?” “Do you think he’s really the Phantom’s lover?” “I’m so jealous.” “I wonder what the real story is…”

At last Frank hushed them and proceeded to address the real reason they were all here. “Quiet down, quiet- hey, shut your mouths!” He waited for quiet, and then continued. “Thank you. So of course there’s the matter of next season’s show. It will be postponed until we can find a suitable lead for our current script.” Normally everyone got a copy of the script to practice for auditions and characters would be chosen from there. The fact that they weren’t releasing it meant one of two things: either they really were looking for a particular breed of actor or actress for the part, or, more likely, they were stalling in hopes that they could find a way to get around the Phantom’s demands. Waylon was supposed to be the lead, and no doubt it was traditionally a female role…they couldn’t have that. Casting him would mean giving into the Phantom’s position of power and they wouldn’t allow it unless they had no other choice. And even though they wouldn’t say any of that of which Waylon already knew, he would have known it anyway just by the look on Trager and Frank’s faces. They all did. 

They would have another month to struggle in the Phantom’s clutches before they too finally resigned themselves to the position they were in. 

He turned into Lisa’s presence as the crowd gradually broke up and began to disperse. He prayed that none of them would try to talk to him, he just wasn’t up to it, especially considering that he’d been isolating himself as much as humanly possible to the point where thanking the pizza guy had become a source of anxiety. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be so lucky. He tried to make it look like him and Lisa were either engaged in a conversation or about to be in hopes that anyone considering approaching him would think twice, but his hopes were dashed, and violently. A girl walked over to him that he recognized easily, Marissa, from the choir. She was pretty, Korean he thought, and often wore a long, black ponytail. He felt particularly bad for her when it came to Chris because he’d been pretty sure, just from what he’d garnered through techie gossip, that she’d had a huge crush on him even though she was never quite able to catch his attentions. He’d hate to have to compete with Miles for anybody’s attention. Miles himself would have found that thought ironic; Waylon would never have to compete with anyone. When it came to him and Eddie there was no competition, and Waylon couldn’t possibly understand what it felt like to not just compete with the Phantom, but to know that he would never even be an option. The choice had already been made and even so Miles couldn’t change how he felt, and so there they were, Waylon and the Phantom a perfect circle, and Miles, a rigid line on the outside that was threatening to pierce through them like an arrow if he had his chance. 

Almost immediately Waylon could tell that Marissa wasn’t interested in commiserating. Actually, she kind of looked like she wanted to beat him up. At one point in his life he would have been afraid; he was a pacifist and didn’t think he could hit anyone even to protect himself, so the threat of violence nearly guaranteed that he would come out worse for wear. But now? It was old news. He stared at her in sorrowful resignation as she started into him. 

“You. Waylon Park.”

“Hi Marissa.” 

She glared at him as if he’d sworn at her. “We all _know_ you know something about Chris’ death, so why don’t you just fess up, yeah?” 

Anyone that remained went silent as they turned to listen in. Waylon felt his cheeks burn with shame at her words, but was at a loss for any himself. He stared at her, opening his mouth as he tried hopelessly to come up with something to say.

“Look, I don’t care if anyone else here thinks I’m crazy or what,” she continued, “There is a Phantom of the Opera, but he’s not a phantom, is he Waylon? He’s just a coward of a man, and I think he killed Chris, and I think you do too. We all know the Phantom has a weird obsession with you…so fess up. Don’t you even _care_ about what happened?”

God, he wished she would stop talking. For her own sake. He stared at her tiredly and began to speak, but Lisa beat him to it. 

“Hey Marissa. _Shut up_ ,” she said coolly. “Waylon doesn’t know anything about some stupid opera ghost, alright? It’s just a story, now leave him alone.” 

Marissa’s eyes narrowed as she stared Waylon down, and he could hardly hold her gaze, so heavy was his guilt as it dragged his eyes down to the floor with the weight of it. “You were supposed to be his friend,” she spat as one of the other girls came over, one of her friends, and gently tried to get her to calm down as she took her arm.

Lisa hopped down off the edge of the stage, but the girl didn’t back down which was kind of impressive. Waylon would have, and he was dating Eddie, so…

“You better watch your fucking mouth before I break your pretty little nose, you got it?” she threw back at her in defense of Waylon’s honor. He hopped down off the stage too and gently touched Lisa’s arm as his body buzzed with nervous energy. He couldn’t let her just take up for him like that while he just sat there like a bump on a log, even if the last thing he wanted to do was engage someone angry and mourning.

“Hey, it’s okay…” he muttered softly. 

“No, Waylon, it’s not okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t you dare apologize.” The word sorry stopped on his lips, hovering there unspoken; she knew him too well. 

At this point Marissa backed off and left with a couple of friends as angry tears filled her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for a thing, she was one hundred percent right about everything. He wished could tell her that. An awkward silence remained, lingering among what remained of the gathered cast and crew as they huddled about, unsure of what to do or say. Waylon felt like crying. His eyes caught on Billy and Dennis, on their hurt, confused expressions, before he turned back to Lisa, a heavy lump in his throat. Suddenly she grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together, and lead him outside making a beeline for the parking lot. He looked alarmed. 

“Wh..what are we doing?” he stuttered anxiously. He wasn’t feeling up for any adventures.

“I’m taking you out to dinner, if that’s okay. Calling in my appointment with you finally, don’t think I’d forgotten.” She smiled at him, and maybe her beauty and her kindness were collectively just a little too disarming, but suddenly he felt like he was going to be sick. He pulled his hand away from hers and doubled over, grasping his knees. “Wait, wait, Lisa, hold on,” he mumbled and covered his mouth for a moment before continuing. Finally he made the words come out instead of the vomit that threatened to replace it.

“I _am_ , I mean I…” He sputtered on the verge of panic. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and hunched his shoulders before continuing. He’d already told her about the Phantom and their odd relationship, but she’d covered for him of course. She might be about to regret that. “I think…I think he did have something to do with it, I don’t know, I can’t explain, but I just, I- I just need to-”

As he pulled his gaze up to look in her general direction she turned and looked back at him with a grim expression.

“I know,” she said plainly. 

He blinked at her in bewilderment and surprise. “You…huh?”

“I know, Waylon…that you’re covering for him.” His stomach clenched tighter, he was going to throw up, he was _definitely_ going to throw up.

“You…how could you…” He stopped as she smiled humorlessly at him. “You’d be amazed by what an outside perspective can do.” He stared at her as his mouth hung open in disbelief. An outside perspective…now that was what he needed. 

“…how about that dinner then?” he muttered as he accepted her hand and finally met her eyes with a look of deep appreciation. 

 

 

 

They’d been there for only a handful of minutes when he saw him. 

First, they’d arrived and argued in the friendliest way possible about who was going to pay for dinner, each emphatically claiming responsibility for it until finally Waylon gave in to Lisa’s dramatic and playful demands of, “OH MY GOD, Waylon, we’re on a REAL date as LOVERS and I am paying because I asked YOU out on a date with ME so I get to PAY.” In the end he was laughing so hard he couldn’t argue and so he gave in. 

It wasn’t easy to relax at first; he felt jumpy and unsettled, having isolated himself for much too long and all the while filling his head with thoughts much too unpleasant, but eventually he found himself gradually unwinding. They grabbed sodas from the cooler and then sat at a table by the window in the cute little cafe called Anne’s Kitchen. He’d been there once or twice and although it was casual it was comfy, the kind of place that had puns and jokes and slightly inappropriate humor in the description of every menu item in a way that mainstream establishments would never get away with, muted lighting, and paintings on the walls from local artists. Each time that he’d been there he’d warn he’d come back soon and just somehow never got around to it, but now that he was here, getting out of his apartment, letting a beautiful girl buy him dinner, and reading through the desserts before even giving the entrees a second thought, he found himself swearing to return again. This was…nice. Safe, normal, the kind of thing that people with friends and lives and reasonable self-esteems did. 

He’d only just raised the bottle of cream soda to his lips when he spotted a hulking, hooded figure in the corner of the cafe, and his heart stopped. Choking and sputtering, he covered his mouth in an effort not to spray soda everywhere as he peered through watery eyes at the familiar man, but when the man looked his way…it was just some skater kid in a hoodie. With a faux hawk. For a second he had thought it could be…

“Waylon? Waylon!” Lisa said as she looked at the guy in bewilderment and then turned back around in her seat to face him. She looked worried. “Are you okay? Do you know him?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t, sorry, I…it just.. went down the wrong tube,” he coughed as he grabbed a napkin.

But his calm demeanor was shattered. He had been planning on attempting to use this evening to force normalcy and pretend everything was fine, just for right now, but he should have known that wouldn’t be possible. There was so such thing as normal for him, he wasn’t normal. 

They ordered their food and as they waited he tried as hard as he could just to relax, just _relax_ , stop being such a weirdo, but he was too paranoid and jumpy to even sit still. He kept fidgeting over and over again as if he couldn’t get comfortable, nearly finishing his soda before the food even arrived just for something to do with his hands, until at least Lisa leaned back in her chair and gave him a firm look. She had her “let’s get down to business and figure this out” face on.

“Alright, Waylon, what’s going on? I can think of a couple things, but this whole thing…it doesn’t make sense.”

He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. “Oh Lisa, it’s so complicated, it’s all so wrong, I don’t know what to do…” He let out a shaky sigh and finally lowered his hands to look at her. She stared at him, waiting. “It’s…alright, so…” He glanced around them nervously, hoping the few people in the cafe wouldn’t pay them any mind. “Look, I want to tell you everything, but it’s…it’s complicated and…”

“Oh my god, Waylon, I will fight you. Tell me.” 

“Alright, alright, alright, okay…alright, so…so you know that…that Eddie is…”

“He’s the Phantom, right? And you’re dating him.”

“I…yes,” he glanced down at the table with embarrassment and worry as he remembered their previous conversation from long ago. They both paused awkwardly as the waiter came over and set down their salads before he spoke again, but he couldn’t even think about touching his food. The words just tumbled out of him chaotically one after the other . 

“It’s just that Eddie is dangerous, but he’s not… he’s not _always_ dangerous, but he is dangerous and I don’t want him to hurt anyone else, but even if I _did_ help the police catch him which I don’t even know if I’m capable of they wouldn’t catch him anyway, he’s the Phantom for a reason, Lisa, he’s smart, like scary smart, he’s always one step ahead, he probably knows I’m talking to you right now and what I’m telling you and-” He didn’t want to cry, but it was too late. He dissolved into tears before he could even finish his sentence, sobbing quietly a few times as he hung his head over the table and rested his forehead on the heals of his hands. 

“Oh, Waylon…” he heard Lisa say softly, but he barreled on because if he didn’t he would never get the words out. 

“I can’t let Eddie get hurt, I just can’t, you don’t understand, Miles thinks he understands but he doesn’t because if he did he wouldn’t ask me to-” He took a deep, shaky breath in and then released it with a sob. “I love him more than anything and I know I should hate him for what he did to Chris and I do, but I can’t let him-” He wanted to say that he couldn’t let Eddie hurt anyone else and that he just had to obey him or more people would get hurt like Miles or Lisa or anyone else, they were all fair game, but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t because if they thought he was just covering for Eddie because he threatened their lives then he would have to explain, yes that’s it, but also _I love him anyway_ , and maybe you think I can give him up if you find another way to get rid of him, but I can’t tell you, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t- 

By the time he realized he had begun sobbing loudly over his food it was already too late to quiet himself so that they wouldn’t attract the attention of every single person in the room. Lisa, seeming unperturbed by the attention, moved her chair over to him and put her arm around him as she pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug, whispering to him that everything was going to be okay. Lisa, sweet, strong, lovely Lisa…if he had fallen in love with someone like her all of this would have been so much easier. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered almost inaudibly. 

“Waylon…shh, it’s okay…I know you’re taking all the weight of this onto your shoulders alone, but you don’t have to. We’re your friends, we love you and want to help, and you need to remember that this is Eddie’s fault…you didn’t kill Chris, it’s not your fault he’s dead, it’s not your fault this is happening, just cause you attracted the attention of some loony…” She paused and sighed heavily. “I know you love him, Waylon, but he’s no good for you…he’s destroying you, look at yourself. You deserve better than this, you deserve to be happy. It’s not healthy, what you guys have going between you…I’ve let go of people I love in the past because they were toxic, and I know it’s not the same as your situation, but I think they have the same solution. You just have to cut him off.” She gave Waylon a piteous look as he let out a low, agonized sob. “It’s going to hurt, but…you’re hurting now too…at least then you could begin to heal.”

She was right, he knew she was right, but he just…he just wanted to die when he thought about a life without Eddie, trying to live his life everyday knowing that he’d betrayed Eddie, left him behind, just like everyone else had. What would happen to him when he was gone? Lisa might tell him, if she were inside his mind, that it wasn’t his job to worry about that, but, he replied angrily to the Lisa in his ear, it was his job, it was supposed to be the job of the people that loved you to take care of you. 

But she was right….she was still right. All the other things aside, everything else forgotten, Waylon knew that so long as he was by Eddie’s side his life would never be easy. He would always hurt, there would always be suffering for him, Eddie, and everyone around them if they got in their way. It would be a dark life full of uncertainty, fear, and chaos. One day would be bliss, the next a nightmare. He knew that as well as he knew that the only way to stop the pain would be… to make a clean break. 

 

 

 

Lisa kindly drove him home, but he insisted that she not walk him to his apartment. He didn’t want her walking through the dark parking lot alone. Being able to handle herself, being strong, had nothing to do with it. Waylon had maintained enough female friendships in his time to understand the threats of potential violence women that had to deal with on a regular basis and he’d never forgive himself if she got attacked walking back to her car, even if she did carry mace on her keychain. 

That didn’t make it any less creepy for him to walk back through the dark abandoned theater at this late hour all by himself, but, well, at least he knew she’d be alright. If anything, Eddie would be watching after him to protect him from all the other monsters that might be lurking about. That was the thing about Eddie; whatever fears Waylon dreamt up, he could guarantee that Eddie would be bigger and badder. In fact, he hadn’t feared anything but him ever since. 

The fact that he was even trying to rationalize that as a plus disturbed him. 

Unlocking his front door and seeing Eddie as soon as he stepped inside sent a chill through his body that he couldn’t exclusively attribute to any one emotion…terror, euphoria perhaps, but it didn’t really matter. This time he was really here, standing in his living room where the only light was from the street lamps that shone in through the windows. He slowly closed the door behind him, wondering why it was that with every passing moment as he stared into Eddie’s eyes he became less and less afraid. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look upset. Could it be that somehow he didn’t know of Waylon’s plans to escape? It wasn’t possible, he had to have known and yet here he was, his face unmasked, his blue and blood red eyes glinting in the darkness like an animal as they stared at him with wistful hesitance. Eddie approached him slowly, carefully, and his face disappeared as the distance from the window threw his features into shadow. 

His initial instinct was to be wary now that he couldn’t read the emotions in his expression, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t know how he knew that Eddie wasn’t here to confront him, or to hurt him…he only knew because he knew why he _was_ here. He was here because he needed the same thing that Waylon did. 

He felt his soft, fingerless gloves grip at his body in the dark and pull him closer with a gentle intensity that was only matched by Waylon’s hands as they pressed against him. Somewhere in the dark their lips made contact and a pang of relief hit his chest, nearly painful, as forceful as if he’d been holding his breath. It was comfort, it was home, it was all the love and understanding he needed from the one person that could give it to him. It had been so long.

The gentle caress of Eddie's fingertips brushed across the line of his jaw, running feather light over the dull marks imbedded in his cheeks from his darling’s own blade. He’d wanted Waylon to suffer, like he himself was suffering, but this was more than he could take, to see before his eyes what damage had been done. He wouldn’t coddle him in the long run, discipline was key after all and he had to be punished for what he’d done, but there was a time for heavy-handedness and a time for tender love and care. 

“Darling…why? What have you done,” he murmured as he laid worried kisses across the damaged flesh. “Why would you _do_ something like that to yourself?”

He didn’t have an answer for him…not one that he understood or could articulate into words. The madness that had weaved its way into his consciousness and that grew with every passing day was only an inkling of a thought about a feeling of which he had no real understanding. 

Eddie pulled his body up into his arms and he readily responded by wrapping his legs around his waist to secure himself firmly as he sank into the kiss with a sense of defeat, however temporary. He could feel the wounds of the recent past already healing. They had been apart for what seemed a barbarically long time, too cruel for words, why they had waited so long for this he couldn’t understand, neither of them could. Even Eddie couldn’t be expected to abstain for much longer, whatever the case. Whatever the situation, whether it was evading the police, punishing Waylon for his betrayal, laying low or anything else the world could throw at them they both understood why he was here. They could forgive each other their trespasses for one evanescent evening if it meant they could be together. Necessity. If it was poisonous, if it was broken, it was still essential. 

Waylon gasped ponderously as he inched back from his lips and placed kiss after kiss over Eddie’s scarred face. He still meant it, he still meant _every one of them_ , he had to know that he did, he had to make him know in case he’d forgotten amidst all the hurt. His arms tightened feebly around Eddie’s shoulders, and he responded in turn, as if that alone could prevent them from ever having to be apart. Consumed by a sense of dread, Waylon pulled back, took Eddie’s face in his hands, and stared into his eyes, drinking them in like an alcoholic begging a disgusted bartender for another drink. 

“Eddie, I love you…Eddie...I _need_ you,” he pleaded, desperate that he would believe him, although how could he after everything that’d happened? He couldn’t even say it elsewhere, it wasn’t allowed; he was supposed to hate Eddie Gluskin, he was a despicable, reprehensible demon, he couldn’t love him, and yet he did and fiercely so. Waylon needed him to know that. No matter what happened, for better or for worse, he would love him. 

“I love you, Waylon. My one true love…my darling for now and always…I’ll never let you go,” he murmured fervently as their foreheads pressed together and they each closed their eyes. _This_ was good. This was whole and _pure_ and no one could take it from them. The sliver of sanity in their absurd lives. 

Eddie brought him to bed and they lay face to face, Waylon scared to look away, to close his eyes for fear that he would fall asleep and that Eddie would vanish like in his dreams. For the fleeting hours until dawn they memorized each other’s faces and bodies in near total silence, Waylon sewing himself to Eddie’s front as he lay encircled in his arms, their legs entangled, and more content and satisfied than he ever would have imagined possible.

He awoke in horror the next morning to mourn the empty space in the bed beside him and he knew that from then on everything from here on out would be different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh? Eh? I know, right? I really enjoyed writing this chapter, but it was definitely a necessary but not super event heavy layer in between the first half of this series, and the definitive second half. Shit's about to get real and frankly I dunno if my heart can take it. I'm scared, are you guys scared? I don't want to, please don't make me lol.
> 
> Is it just me or is this shit gettin longer


	12. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Miles have both decided that the only way to end this is to get rid of one of them, Waylon comes to terms with his lack of sanity, and it all culminates at the event of the season, the Masquerade Ball...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a song somewhere in here, just a few lines of it from Waylon singing it. If you wanna listen to the song before you get to that part so it's easier to imagine, then check out Remember Us by Gabriel Royal (I discovered his song on Nightvale weather!).

The next few days were hard, but they felt less empty, and Waylon considered that to be infinitely better. He cleaned, he got himself to actually cook a simple meal and even eat it, he showered without shaving at all, and when he woke up the following day he decided to call Miles. He had been selfish and he felt guilty, but the time for moping was over. He was among the living again and it was time to take care of something very important: Miles. 

Waylon swallowed nervously as the phone range against his ear; he was still suffering from the heightened sense of anxiety that he’d developed from recent long periods of isolation, among other things. 

“Hey Waylon,” Miles said as he picked up, sounding surprised, but as if he were smiling into the receiver. 

“Hey, Miles! Hi!” Waylon started, smiling a little. “Uh, what’s up?”

“Nothin’.” Waylon could hear a snack bag being closed violently and let out a laugh.

“Cool, cause uh, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?” He paused, feeling a little breathless. “Maybe it would be okay if I came over?”

There was a few seconds of silence and then an excited, “Yeah yeah yeah, that sounds great! Yeah, come on over, you wanna come now? You want me to order some food?”

He was grinning. “Sure, I’ll pay half, just get whatever…now? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, why not?! Get that cute little ass over here, lemme just get rid of these hookers and I’ll-” Waylon burst out laughing. 

Still snickering, he breathed into the receiver, “Okay, I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” 

“Wow, okay, guess someone’s excited to see me,” Miles smirked as he flipped onto his side on the couch and gave the phone his full attention. 

“Shut up,” Waylon said with a chuckle and hung up. He went and started grabbing his keys and things while Miles ran around his apartment frantically trying to make it look the way anyone would want their house to look if they had someone they had a crush on coming over to hang out. It was an unreasonable reaction of course, knowing how Waylon had been living over the last month or so and knowing that Waylon didn’t give a shit what his apartment looked like, and no longer had an ounce of romantic interest in him whatsoever anyway, but he couldn’t help it. Endearingly, Waylon thought he was cool, even though he was actually a huge nerd in disguise. He wasn’t going to let him down. 

It was a really nice place actually, Waylon almost felt like he was coming to stay at a hotel as he made his way through the lobby. When Miles answered the door he just stood there and leaned against the doorway, running his eyes over him with intense scrutiny. Waylon fidgeted awkwardly in response, staring at him in shy confusion. 

“What?” 

Miles laughed. “Just messing with you. Come on in.” He moved aside for him and held the door open. He was messing with him, yeah, but at the same time he was checking him for anything unusual: injuries, dark circles, weight loss, hygiene, all the basics, and he looked pretty good….really good, actually. Happier. He smiled.

“What’s got this pep in your step today? You were so out of it when I saw you last,” he asked curiously as he closed the front door behind him. Woah, Waylon thought, his apartment was huge. Casual, but sleek and well-kept, like Miles. Hardwood floors throughout, giant windows, high slanted ceilings and impressive bookshelves. He was kinda jealous, his own one bedroom apartment was just some storage space converted into living arrangements for someone to live in and take care of the theater, but the building owners had been too cheap to hire anyone. His own living room had shitty, peeling wallpaper, dated appliances, and needed constant maintenance. He didn’t really mind it, it was home, but this…this was _nice._

“Wow…your place is gorgeous, why didn’t we ever hang out here before?” Waylon inquired with a gentle sense of awe. Miles shrugged and then went over and threw himself down on a big, soft-leather brown couch. 

“I don’t know. Just never came up, we were always at the theater already anyway so it was more convenient.” He sat up and looked at Waylon more seriously with an edge of concern. It hadn’t been that long since they saw each other last, but judging by Waylon’s condition during their last visit his quick recovery seemed not only remarkable, but impossible. It was fishy to say the least. “You doing okay? Really? Did something happen?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Waylon said smiling hesitantly as he came over to sit beside him, but it only took a moment for his smile to vanish. He didn’t realize until now how worried Miles had been about him…maybe, he thought, sometimes he took Miles for granted. No matter how possessed he was by Eddie he wasn’t going to change who he was or stop caring about the other people in his life. There were certain lines he thought he wasn’t willing to cross. “I’m sorry I’ve been…not… all here recently…. I should have…” He paused and looked down at the couch. “I should have been there for you more. I mean, I…I should be. It’s hard to explain what’s been going on…”

“No, Waylon, don’t, really, it’s okay,” Miles responded hurriedly as he put a hand on his shoulder. “For all intents and purposes I told you to fuck off. I don’t…I don’t process grief gracefully, I just sort of shut down. It’s okay.”

Waylon nodded in understanding and muttered, “Yeah, I…guess I do too.” He’d never really lost anybody, more like there was simply an absence of prominent figures in his life. Losing Chris, and in a way Eddie at the same time, had been kind of a shock.

“We just both wanted to be alone at the same time. It’s cool.” He put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close as he sat them both back into the couch deeply and let out a contented sigh. As much as he’d wanted to be alone he was really grateful that Waylon was here now. Maybe at one time in his life he’d had a lot of friends, but that was before Jeremy, and that was when everything changed. He had been…almost as stupid about it as Waylon was being now, actually. Point was, he’d isolated himself from most of his friends and they hadn’t been like this thing with Waylon, they didn’t care enough, and overtime every one of them dropped off the face of the planet. But he thought that him and Waylon were stronger than that… _knew_ that they were. 

Waylon sank into his chest under his arm and sighed as well. For a long time neither of them spoke.

“…so you’re alright?” Waylon prodded gently. He knew he wasn’t, knew that he would say that he was, but also knew that he had to ask. 

“Yeah…I’m alright,” he muttered with a tired, vacant expression. 

“I know you’re not… but it’s okay.” He turned his head, leaning his cheek on his shoulder leisurely as he glanced at him. “You will be alright.” Miles turned his head to look at him as well, and smiled softly. They were close enough to kiss, and for one crazy moment he almost lost his mind and did it, but he stopped himself from moving at the last second. 

“Yeah…I know. You’ll be okay too, Waylon. I know you're scared, but I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Whatever you want, we’ll figure out how to make it happen, yah dig?” He wanted to ask him if he really hadn’t seen Eddie in all this time, he found it really hard to believe, but he couldn’t stand to bring him up. He wanted at least to have this moment just for them, as much as possible anyway. The phantom was always there, just behind Waylon’s eyes even if, in a way, Eddie was out of the picture. He should have been thrilled, Waylon had even agreed to leave with him, and yet he just felt like he wasn’t fully present…like a part of him was always with Eddie. 

Waylon smiled. “Dork,” he muttered. “Yeah, I dig.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m so comfortable, jesus…this couch…”

“Uh, I think you need to give a little more credit to where it’s due? This couch wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable if you weren’t snuggling on up me.”

He laughed and shoved him over playfully. He laid down with him and wrapped his arms around his waist, snuggling his face into his side as he closed his eyes. “Just be quiet until the pizza guy gets here, I’m gonna take a nap.”

“What? No way, Park, you didn’t come over to hang out with me so you could take a nap!” he cried indignantly, though he was unable to push him off. 

“Shhh….shh… just let it happen,” Waylon murmured with a grin. “Don’t struggle or I’ll blow a raspberry on your tummy.”

“Bro, I fuckin’ dare you to even think ab-” he nearly shrieked when Waylon actually did it, he didn’t think he’d have the guts. He squirmed and twisted away from him laughing loudly. “FUCK OFF, jesus CHRIST that tickles!” he yelled as he pulled his shirt down and pushed Waylon away, falling back on the couch and giggling like a lunatic. 

“I didn’t know you were ticklish!” he cried with the kind of evil delight only a child could usually manage. 

“No, like, I will _actually_ kill you, Waylon Park,” Miles said as he climbed over him and pinned him into the couch, grasping his wrists to stop his itchy, wiggling fingers from ending up anywhere on his body. He stared down at him and gave him a heavy dose of stink eye. “I’m warning you.”

Waylon grinned up at him innocently. “I won’t, I won’t, okay. Purple circle, personal space. I got it.” He wasn’t the kind of asshole that would tickle someone when they said ‘don’t fucking tickle me’. Miles didn’t know that though, which was fun. He loved watching him cringe away, although being tackled into the couch was hilarious too. He was such a drama queen about everything.

He stared down at him for a few more moments before getting a mischievous smirk on his own face. “You look pretty tasty like this, Way. Maybe you need to be punished for your bad behavior,” he purred in a seductive undertone. 

Once he was sure Waylon’s face had turned the deepest shade of red it possibly could, he let him go with a laugh. Waylon sat up, pulled in his legs, and covered his face with his hands looking mortified. It was even more embarrassing when Miles said stuff like that because he didn't know how to react. He knew Miles meant it, he probably would like to fool around a little even if they hadn’t had that kind of relationship in months, but he wasn’t supposed to react in any way that might be interpreted as encouraging and yet he didn’t want to be a jerk either. Everything about it just drew the heat straight to his face. And Miles was loving it. 

The doorbell rang and he stood up smirking then sauntered over to the door to answer it, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket while Waylon tried to get his pulse back under control. He brought the pizza over and set it on the coffee table, grabbed a slice, and plopped back on his butt. 

Sometime between the second and third slice, while Waylon was saying something about this new recipe he wanted to try, the thought Miles had a little while ago came back to him.

“So I guess I’ll make it, it’s just kinda weird without the actual curly fry maker and bake 'em. But it might be fun to try doing it by hand,” he said as he took another hearty, cheesy bite of his pizza. 

“Definitely. You better let me try them. I bet they’ll turn out great, even if you bake ‘em like you said. You don’t always need grease to have a good time.” Waylon snickered while Miles’ gaze turned thoughtful. “So,” he began with only a hint of hesitation, “You really haven’t seen Eddie at all? He didn’t come to see you?”

“Nope,” Waylon lied, made easier by having a mouthful of food.

“Hm.” Miles hummed with a satisfied nod. He could relax a little now. “You just seem…better, so I wondered.”

“Yeah, I just…had some stuff I had to work out I guess.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want Miles to think less of him for seeing Eddie again, he knew he wouldn’t, but… “I just…I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’m worried about the upcoming show, and what Trager and Frank are gonna do, and…” 

“Are you gonna be cool with it if they cast you as the female lead?” Miles said with a curious glance in his direction. He blushed in return. 

“I…yeah, I suppose,” he muttered timidly. Miles would probably think he was weird, but he really didn’t think it was that big a deal, at least not as much as everyone else was making it out to be. Did they just think he’d look stupid in a dress? Well…too bad, he was kind of offended actually. If it was good enough for Eddie then it was good enough for him. If he thought he looked beautiful then what did it matter?

“You’re not gonna be embarrassed about wearing a dress and stuff on stage? I mean, they probably won’t actually make your character female, but you’ll still have to fit the role and get made up like a girl to some extent.”

“Yeah…that’s true. I don’t know, I just,” he sighed, searching for the words, “I just think…the more I think about it the less weird it seems to me, and I think everyone else will feel that way too. Sure, it’s not something you really see being done, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it. Of course there are gonna be assholes that won’t want to see the show just because of that, but, well that’s just how it’s gotta be I guess.” 

He was a little bit excited about the whole thing actually, but…he couldn’t say that, it was weird. Eddie would have understood. He would be _honored_ to be the one to play the incredible characters that Eddie designed and the songs that he poured his soul into. It would be like their spirits were one living entity on stage and everyone would see it.

“Waylon? Waylon!” Miles said, shaking him gently. He looked back at him impassively.

“S-sorry…zoned out…” Great, now Miles looked worried again. He shoved the rest of his pizza crust in his face and smiled in satisfaction. “Ahh, that was good. You were right, plain cheese is just best sometimes.” 

“Yeah…” Miles muttered, unconvinced by his strange moment of absence. He sighed quietly. It must have been that little part of him, the one that was with Eddie, that sometimes took him away. With a wrenching feeling in his gut he got the idea to wonder if perhaps eventually, one day, Eddie would take him away from him altogether. 

 

 

 

As sad as the doll was that he’d left him behind and as guilty as he felt for breaking his heart, the heart of the man who had saved him, given him life and love and everything he had, he was still glad to finally be free. He would see the world and explore everything, meet new people, and learn more about who he was as a real person, not just a doll. 

He made his way through the bustling market place of the nearby town, marveling at everything there was to see, amazing things that he never could have imagined; being a doll he didn’t need to eat of course, but the food he saw smelled incredible, the crafts one of a kind, and the street performers showcasing stunts he never would have dreamed possible.

That was when he felt a hand clamp roughly over his mouth and suddenly he was being dragged into the shadows of an alley.

“Make a sound and I will shatter your porcelain skin on the pavement like the plaything I know you really are,” hissed Miles’ voice sadistically in his ear. His eyes widened in fear and he struggled, but not in earnest, afraid of what the doll collector might do. He recognized that voice; it was the man who owned the shop that he’d been bought from. Helpless, all he could do was concede as Miles dragged him offstage. 

“CUT, alright, good, wrap it up! Let’s take a break people!” Trager yelled from the audience as he stood up and sauntered over to the stage with his thumbs tucked into his pockets. As Waylon looked at him from the stage he thought he seemed frustrated and that was…concerning, although not a surprise. He just couldn’t get a feel for the scene, or even the character he was supposed to be playing. Miles let him go and sighed as he glanced over at him, giving him a lopsided smirk but an encouraging glance. His hands were on his hips and his hips were cocked to the side; he was tired, and if he was honest, he wasn’t feeling the scene either. He wasn’t used to playing the villain, and since the Phantom had decided the casting he was, of course, resentful of the role to begin with. 

It had been about a month since Waylon had seen any sign of Eddie Gluskin. Waylon thought that Eddie had a higher tolerance for their separation, but that made sense when he considered that as far as anyone knew Waylon was still planning to leave him. His anger would make it easier for him to ignore him. Nothing had changed between them after they’d spent the night together, in fact as far as they were both concerned it never happened. It didn’t change the fact that Eddie was heart broken. It didn’t cancel out the rage and the hatred that he felt toward everyone and everything, and it wouldn’t prevent him from showing Waylon just how far he was willing to go to punish him. He understood that, but understanding didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

In Eddie’s mind it was his last chance to make Waylon stay and while anyone else might have thought it wise to spend _more_ time with his darling to sway his affections in his favor, Eddie was smarter than that. He would give Waylon a taste of his own medicine even if he had to shove it down his throat and once he knew what it was like to be without him he would never, ever leave. 

Not that he would let him choose in the end, but he still wanted him to make the choice, and he would plan the consequences accordingly. 

It seemed that they’d been apart for an impossibly long time, and while time couldn’t heal the wound it had helped his grief over Chris subside somewhat. Time also enabled him to come to terms with his guilt, and while he still had the nightmares about Eddie, the funeral, and a thousand other senseless, stressful subjects, he was now able to function somewhat. Most days.

Though he had to admit…the last week or two had been particularly rough on him. He still hadn’t made a real decision about leaving, Eddie was essentially holding Miles’ safety and the lives of everyone over his head like a guillotine, the police continued to hound him, and all he wanted to do was be alone, but the more time he spent alone the worse he felt. 

And now he wasn’t performing as well as he should. He knew it was him, he could tell by the way Trager hemmed and hawed when he delivered a crucial line that he hadn’t quite put his heart into. He’d nodded appreciatively when Miles delivered his line, complete with a perfect evil villain laugh on the end that somehow wasn’t cheesy in the slightest. Waylon’s own responding line had fallen flat, he felt, or maybe he was being self-conscious? They were just rehearsing a dry run without costumes, working through the blocking and figuring out their characters, as they’d only gotten their scripts this week. It had taken a while for Trager and Frank to give in to Eddie’s demands, but not as long as he’d thought, thank god.

Waylon cringed and headed over to the edge of the stage as Trager motioned him over, noticing as he looked over his shoulder into the audience that a small group of the cast and crew were huddled together and talking in low voices as they snickered about something between them. Maybe it was just part of his newly enhanced social anxiety, but he had a feeling it was about him. He sighed as he made eye contact with an old man that was only barely maintaining his patience. 

“Alright, look Waylon…I know this is tough for you, you’ve been under a lot of stress and now this weird shit, I get it. Let’s run through this one time after the break and see if we can’t get you feeling a little more _inspired_ , deal? Listen,” Trager continued as Waylon hopped down from the stage, stumbling as Trager slung an arm heavily around his shoulders. “You need to think… happy thoughts. Yeah, the doll collector is a creepy guy, but you’re oblivious, innocent, having an awesome time in your new body. You are the only doll in existence that has what you have and you’re all friggin’ sunshine and rainbows about it. That is what you need to focus on.”

He sighed, embarrassed by his ineptitude. It wasn’t like he hadn’t memorized his lines or anything, he knew exactly what he should be doing, but when it came to performing he just couldn’t deliver. 

His character was a supposed to be a doll brought to life by an insane but genius scientist, who’d bought him from a shop in a nearby town. Miles, meanwhile, was playing the selfish and unsettling shopkeeper that had sold the scientist the doll in the first place. Once the doll had been brought to life he desired his freedom and left the scientist all alone. Everyone that met the doll loved him once they saw how sweet, charming, and kind he was, but even so no one knew he wasn’t really human until the doll stumbled across the shopkeeper who recognized him instantly. Intent on taking the living, breathing doll back and keeping him for his own nefarious purposes, Miles would kidnap him, to later be rescued by the scientist.

Waylon didn’t even have to think about the symbolism Eddie was clearly trying to express. 

Him and Miles went back stage together and headed for the common area where everyone relaxed when they had a spared moment. They went to the shared refrigerator and grabbed their bottles of water.

“I just can’t…get ahold of whatever inspiration I’m supposed to have,” Waylon muttered with a sigh. “I mean, normally I would practice with Eddie but with him gone I just can’t…I know I can do it without him, but it would be so much easier if I had his help like I used to,” he mumbled sadly, idly swirling the water in his water bottle. Miles frowned at him.

“No word from him?” He wasn’t checking in because he was hoping he would show up, but exactly the opposite. So as long he didn’t come around Miles felt some sense of peace. But the peace only made Waylon more nervous about what would come next. 

“No…nothing.”

Miles nodded and silence fell between them as they each disappeared into their own thoughts. Neither of them wanted to address the slight, but precarious feeling of distance that had fallen between them recently. They had seen each other a bit less often, each consumed by their obsession over the Phantom, just in very different ways.

Everyone was obsessed with the Phantom. His influence gripped every person in Mount Massive, and had begun to spread throughout the city. They spoke of the Phantom in hushed fearful or reverent voices. Waylon thought that might have been part of the reason Frank and Trager had decided to just move on with the show; the scandal of it all had been it’s own PR campaign and they were more popular than ever. They were already selling tickets and for a much higher price than they used to be.

They headed backstage again and went their separate ways as Miles went to talk to Frank with some question about the script. Waylon sighed and sat on a set piece that rested heavily on wheels for an effortless glide out onto the stage; it was a moveable wall with a portion jutting out in the back for actors to stand on, where Waylon now sat. He stared at the ground, going over his lines in his mind as he tried to figure out what was lacking, until he heard voices whispering behind a portion of one of the sets of crimson curtains. 

_“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s real, you know how theater kids like gossip,”_ said one girl to another.

_“That’s true, but Waylon’s been acting so weird for a long time now, what else could it be? And he wasn’t even in the show and now all of a sudden him being the star?”_

_“It is pretty weird. Unless he’s sleeping with Trager,”_ she snickered. He couldn’t make out who either of them were because of how quietly they were speaking, but he thought maybe he might of recognized the laugh…? Not that it mattered, he knew they were all talking about him even when he couldn’t hear them. 

_“Ew, oh my god, don’t even joke.”_

_“Okay, okay… you’re right though. It’s really creepy, the whole theater just feels different. Maybe because someone died here…it just feels off. Like someone’s watching us, you know?”_

_“Oh my god, I feel exactly the same way! Okay, okay, don’t tell me I’m crazy, just listen, I left my bag here yesterday and came back to get it and it was dark and spooky in here…and then suddenly I realize I can hear this weird noise, right? So I listen really closely and I swear I hear someone singing…a male singer with a really deep voice…”_

_“Did it sound like Joseph? He’s the only baritone we’ve got.”_

_“No, no, it didn’t! I swear it didn’t, why would he be here singing in the dark anyway though?”_

There was a silence during which both girls were no doubt shuddering in unison. 

He was too embarrassed about listening into their conversation to leave and risk letting his presence be known, so he did what he always did when he was uncomfortable in public; he played with his phone. No messages, maybe he’d check Tumblr…

Luckily, they both went in the opposite direction and never stumbled upon him. He let out a sigh of relief and tucked his phone away with a frown. He had been afraid he would hear them say much worse things about him like Marissa had. Her words still echoed in his head at the most inopportune times, filling him with guilt and misery that he couldn’t shake.

Being as quiet as possible in case there was anyone else skulking about, he slid into the back room and down the hall to his dressing room. He just wanted to be alone until the break was over and he still had about ten minutes. 

He noticed the letter leaning against the mirror almost immediately. His breath caught in his throat and he froze in front of the door he’d just shut, staring at the regal ivory envelope. His heart was pounding in his ears. His eyes darted around the room nervously to check for any other abnormalities, but found none and so he approached the envelope. He picked it up cautiously as if it might contain a poisonous spider, but as nervous as he was he was breathless with excitement. It said it right there across the front in beautiful script: 

_The Phantom of The Opera_

The thick paper flap opened easily in his hand and he took out the note inside with trembling fingers. 

_My darling,_

_Meet me in the courtyard at half past midnight. There is much to discuss._

_Forever your most faithful and adoring companion,  
P.T.O._

…what did it mean? From the instant he’d see the name scrawled across the face of the envelope he’d known that Eddie would ask him to meet, but for what he couldn’t have any idea. How much ill-will did Eddie still hold in his heart for him? It would be dangerous…he would have to think long and hard about whether or not he would go. 

But no matter how long he thought about it, he knew that in the end he would go no matter what. 

Miles asked him if he wanted to hang out for the first time in two weeks, but he had to decline, saying maybe tomorrow. Maybe, because he didn’t know what would happen tonight, or whether for any reason he might not be in fit shape for company the next day.

When he got back to his apartment he showered and shaved, grooming himself from head to toe in perfection. He practiced his lines for about an hour, ate dinner, did some nervous cleaning and changed into something presentable. He picked out a dark gray dress shirt and one of the only pairs of pants he owned that wasn’t jeans, feeling a little silly for acting like he was going on a date as he slid into them in front of the mirror. He ran his fingers through his messy, dirty blonde hair as he frowned at his reflection…to think, that in another lifetime he might have been going out with Miles instead, on a normal date, around dinnertime…not sneaking around a creepy old building in the dead of night to meet a murderer. A murderer he already knew was angry with him. It was bizarre, but it was actually much more exciting. A date with a nice, attractive guy who he’d been friends with for a while, that would be nice and it would be safe, but it wouldn’t make him feel like this.

With a seriously uneasy feeling in his stomach he walked down the dimly lit hallway to the heavy metal door that lead out into the secluded courtyard. As he stepped into the grass and looked around the space lit only by the stars he couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d been out here. It sent him back through all sorts of horrible memories. Where was Eddie? He didn’t see him anywhe-

No, no there he was. Had he been there the whole time? He stalked into view, moonlight spilling across his unmasked face. He wondered uncomfortably why he seemed to have chosen to no longer wear the mask; looking at him while thinking this made him feel odd, as if he’d done something wrong. It had to be symbolic somehow. 

Eddie approached him with a serious, self-assured expression and Waylon stepped towards him as well, but Eddie stopped a yard or two away from him and he found himself unable to close the distance. He wanted release, to throw himself into his arms, just to touch him at all, but he could sense a coldness between them that made him stop, staring at him awkward and unsure. This was not a friendly visit.

“Eddie…” he whispered sounding as if he would lead into a question, but letting the words die on his tongue. 

“Come, darling. We have work to do,” he said with a bit of that cocky tone he enjoyed employing and that Waylon probably enjoyed at least twice as much.

To his surprise he didn’t lead him into the building, but around the outside of it and between two large pillars where they came to stand in a portion of the first floor that formed an alcove under the second floor. It was just off the courtyard, making up sort of a stone patio. He’d sometimes come here when he wanted to be alone, lounging outside in the shade as he aimlessly watched the clouds rolls by. He looked on in bewilderment as Eddie walked straight up to the stone wall of the building as if he would find a door there, and placed his hand on one large portion of stone that made up its masonry. He pushed against it firmly and for a moment Waylon thought he perceived his hand sinking into the flat face of the rock, but no, the rock itself was sinking back, effortlessly as if it ran on a track. And then he watched in amazement as the wall shifted back in sections with a dull grinding to form an upward staircase. He couldn’t believe it, he was stunned, how could something like this exist without anyone knowing it? Or was he the only one that didn’t know? What could the purpose be of having something like this, and where did it go? 

Eddie looked back at him and for a moment he remembered his fear. He didn’t know where Eddie was taking him, but no one else knew where Eddie was taking him either. He tried to get a feeling from his facial expression, from his demeanor, whether or not he sought to put him in harm’s way, but that wouldn’t work. He knew that in Eddie’s mind everything he did was for his benefit and so even the kindest of smiles or the tenderest of kisses could prelude a gruesome fate. All he could do was follow him with greatest caution, staying on high alert at all times…regardless of how much he wanted to let himself relax and trust Eddie completely. Although that was what Eddie wanted it was something Waylon felt he must never, ever do. Even if that was what he wanted most too.

If he was honest with himself though, he was fairly certain that whatever he did he would never see it coming. He would try to see it, but Eddie would blind him. It’s just the way things are, he thought with a hint of resignation. Maybe he was closer to trust without reservation than he thought.

He followed him up the massive stone steps and into a large room that reminded him of the rest of the theater’s beautiful interior: dark woods and old fashioned wall papers, high arches over heavy wooden doors, rich fabrics and furniture that brought him back in time, and a skylight that filled the room with moonbeams that danced with the candlelight, and to which a rope ladder lead. There must have been a hundred candles, all casting a gentle, eery glow, keeping the shadows at bay just enough to see by. The room reminded him heavily of a castle turret although he couldn’t place why.

Eddie lead him to the center of the room and he suddenly realized how very safe he felt here cut-off from the rest of the world. There were no regular windows, and only one door that he could see now that their entrance up through the floor had shifted closed. Should he be scared? Probably. 

They faced each other in silence until at last Eddie spoke, stepping up to him. 

“You must practice if you’re to improve. I need you to carry out my vision, darling… you’re the only one that can.”

Ah…so that was it. It was just as things had once been, meeting in the dark to sing, to learn what it meant to truly transcend your own experience and become someone else rather than just stand on the stage pretending to be someone different. If he could really feel it then the audience would too. Once, Eddie had taught him that he could become whoever and whatever he wanted to be. Now as he struggled on his own he would remind him how. Regardless of what had happened Waylon still needed his teacher if he was to progress and, as he said, carry out his vision. Additionally, it made a nice excuse for them to be together, although Waylon had garnered from the cold distance resting between them that he was the only one that felt that way this time. It made him feel incredibly lonely.

His heart leapt into his throat as Eddie held his hand out to him and he stepped forward to take it. He found the warmth of his touch comforting in spite of everything. He watched as his hand slid over the fabric of Eddie's glove and then looked into his eyes and became his.

He conducted him through his lines, speaking instruction to him softly, guiding him with his hands. The longer they practiced the more addicted he became to the feeling of his gentle prompts. His hands pressed at the small of his back, cajoling him into standing up straighter, the solid presence of his torso against his back and one hand pressing tightly over his mouth as he stood in for Miles’ role, and perhaps the worst of all, the not so accidental brush of his lips as he whispered instruction into his ear. At first it was hard to concentrate, but Eddie’s voice coaxed him on.

“Don’t imagine what it would look like… imagine what it would feel like…” he hissed as Waylon concentrated.

They rehearsed together for hours as Eddie filled him with inspiration until his spirit was spilling over with it, but then, just like that…it was over. 

“That’ll have to do for the evening. It’s coming along quite nicely,” he praised as he turned and walked from the room, motioning with his head for him to follow. It felt a bit…abrupt. That was all? …really? He glanced back at the room, reveling in its mysticism one last time. They had been so intent on their work he hadn’t had a chance to really examine the excess of strange items littered about on every free space. He was curious, but as Eddie swept him from the room he forgot his disappointment regarding one situation and replaced it with disappointment for another. He had hoped that they’d have more time. It wouldn’t be the first time Eddie had been all work and no play, but he hadn’t said a word to him outside of instruction. No ‘oh darling’, no kisses, none of the romantic stuff he would have denied he enjoyed if anyone but Eddie had asked, but it was as if he hadn't spared him a second thought outside of ensuring that he fulfilled his duty to the stage. This really was all just for the sake of that. 

Eddie didn’t speak a word to him on their walk back to the main building. Once Waylon had a better idea of where he was they stopped and turned to face each other. Eddie stared him down with a cool air of near indifference. 

“Good night, darling. Take care to keep practicing, you still have a long way to go.” He bowed his head to him slightly and then turned and vanished down the dark hallway. He was more than a little affronted, but he felt guilty, so guilty. The space between them, it was _his_ fault. He did this.

“W-wait…hey! …Eddie!” he called after him hesitantly, but he didn’t come back. It was just like his nightmares. 

He went back to his apartment, key shaking in his hand as he clumsily slid it into the lock. It was like he knew, like he’d seen his worst nightmares and made them come true on purpose just to screw with him. God, he really ticked him off, he thought as he stormed in, slammed the door, and chucked his keys at the couch. He leaned back against the front door, furious with himself for being so upset about something so stupid, furious with Eddie for treating him like he didn’t even matter when they both knew very well how important they were to each other, and furious because when it came right down to it…he had no right to feel mad. How dare he be angry at Eddie when he was the one that had made the choice to leave him? All of this, all of it was because he thought he would be better off without Eddie Gluskin. He was so _stupid_ to ever think that he could go through with it. Leaving him was the logical choice, the sane choice, and the choice that everyone, Miles, Lisa, wanted him to make. 

That was why he couldn’t. 

But jesus christ, Eddie was such a fucking _asshole_. Tears appeared threateningly in his eyes and he blinked them away as he stomped off to his bedroom to change out of his stupid, fancy clothes. Fuck him, he seethed as he ripped his shirt off over his head and chucked it into the hamper. Fuck him and his pretentious attitude, his arrogant smirk, his sexy lisp and his unbearable need to control everything and everyone around him. He wanted to act like he wasn’t happy to see him? Fine. Fine, he didn’t care, he was just a…

He clamped his hands over his eyes as if that could stop him from crying. He wasn’t even allowed to be upset about it because then he was weak. And if he wasn’t upset about it then it was like admitting that none of it mattered when it obviously _did_ matter. The worst part about it was that he couldn’t stop trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel, or what Miles or Lisa would think about it, the kinds of things they would say to him. He could hear them in his head, judging him openly for not doing what they thought was right…no, for not doing what _was_ right and instead indulging in his sick fantasies. 

He was just so tired of trying and failing to be a good person. If Miles disapproved of his decisions and his feelings so much then why did he even like him? Did he even like him if he couldn’t understand or accept the way Waylon felt? He shook his head…no…that wasn’t true. Miles did accept his feelings for Eddie, he just didn’t agree with them or think they were good for him. Well, he thought, at least we agree on that. 

Or..maybe…maybe his feelings for Eddie had nothing to do with it. Maybe what wasn’t good for him was the fact that he couldn’t stop struggling with his feelings, trying to force them away. If he had been seeing a therapist he imagined that they would say he needed to use his rational mind instead of following his emotions around like a lost puppy, but that was easy to say when you didn’t have to feel them. And what would it matter if he made good decisions anyway if he wasn’t happy in the end?

By the time he coaxed himself into laying down and going to sleep he felt like…like he’d made a decision, not consciously, but like he’d reached a point in which he was pretty sure that he knew what the outcome of all this was going to be.

 

 

 

 

The passage of time was grueling and slow, but the frantic pace at which they were performing made the days go by faster. He had been terrified beyond words before the premiere, but seeing Eddie in box five watching him made everything easier. He imagined that he was the only one in the audience and suddenly all his fears melted away. Eddie faithfully left him flowers of all kinds after his shows, but somehow he’d worked out quickly, before Waylon even did, that his favorite flowers were dark purple or black peonies and so he found them in his dressing room and outside his home every single day. The flowers themselves were lovely, but it was more important that Eddie was thinking about him. After everything they’d put each other through he was still on Eddie’s mind, he was still his number one priority, and that was why they made him smile like an idiot. 

For the next month he only saw him once more, a couple weeks after his first performance, and he visited him when he was in the theater alone, singing to himself on the stage once everyone else had gone. He loved the feeling of solitude and total privacy that came with an empty auditorium and it was a thousand times more triumphant and satisfying than singing in the shower. His tenor carried unabashedly straight to the cheap seats with only a handful of lights to illuminate the ominous shadows. 

It was a wistful, haunting song perfectly suited to his voice and he could hear the instrumental in his mind as the melody tumbled unbidden from his lips. 

_“No, I don't remember us falling in love, but I’m sure that it happened…no, I don’t remember us falling in love, this sort of thing is old-fashioned… I know this, I know I don’t know…”_

_“My mother told me, be careful, don’t think with your heart…but just like a fool I went and followed all the lights to the sparks…it goes over and over again till we find our way back…did you really have to even ask…? No, I don’t remember us falling in love, but I’m sure that it happened…no, I don’t remember us falling in love, this sort of thing is old fashioned. I know this, I know I don’t know…no, I don’t know, this I know…”_

There were a few lines left to go, but his voice faded off as he slowly became aware of a presence behind him. He dared not turn around, sure who it was, but unsure of whether or not they would stay. He continued to sing, hoping that it would persuade him not to leave.

The footsteps continued closer and then came to rest behind him before he felt Eddie’s arms settle around his waist. He could tell instantly that this was the certain sort of meeting that neither of them would ever feel compelled to mention again, could sense that Eddie was so angry, but in so much pain that he just needed him. He sank back into him, chest aching. Would this ever be normal again? Could they ever go back so that things were maybe not the same, but…happy? Their first months together had been confusing and nerve-racking but intense and at times blissful. It was all such a wreck now and he felt like they were hopelessly broken.

He turned to face him and was surprised to see tears in his eyes as he tried to remember whether or not he’d ever seen Eddie cry before. It frightened him, made him want to toss everything else away and forget anything that Eddie wanted him to forget so that they could just be together again. What did any of it matter? He couldn’t help it, the next thing he knew he was crying too and burying his face in Eddie’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him and heaved a deep breath that ended in a sob. They could never go back to what they were before. Maybe if they fought it they could make something better, but Waylon thought that was foolishly optimistic. 

Eddie lifted him up into his arms bridal style and held him close as Waylon’s arms instinctively latched around his neck. He huddled into his body, feeling Eddie’s chest rise and fall as he breathed a heavy sigh, both content and filled with sorrow. He hated to hurt his darling, he’d just gotten carried away. He knew that Waylon wanted to be with him as badly as he wanted it himself, but Waylon was helpless to do anything about it, or thought he was. He could see that now. All this time and all this separation had been hard on them both and he felt weak for allowing anything to become between them, but he’d finally reached the point where he knew he couldn’t let it continue any longer. He couldn’t let his darling’s little game go on just to spare him his feelings or to allow him to entertain the absurd notion that he had any control over the situation. In his sympathy Eddie had allowed it until now, but no more…no more. 

In being blinded by Waylon’s betrayal he had forgotten the most obvious answer of all. His darling was just a victim like he was, a pawn to be played, he didn’t even see how he was being used, his feelings disregarded, _disrespected_ the way he himself had always been, and the audacity that it was occurring right under Eddie’s nose. He _had to protect him_ no matter the cost, no matter that his darling was confused and lost and unable to come to him of his own accord. Damn them…damn them all. He would simply take what was his, leave the rest to burn, and devil take the hindmost. 

 

 

 

 

The season had gone _bizarrely_ well in his opinion, Waylon never would have imagined that so many people would have loved the production as much as they did. It had become immensely popular in a very short amount of time. He speculated that the PR team must have been outrageously good at their jobs. More importantly he couldn’t have foreseen that everyone would _love_ him so. The number of autographs he signed a day was laughable, the queue around the theater monstrous, and he received more gifts and invitations to places (that he didn’t want to go) than he could have ever dreamed. He was _more_ well-known, _more_ popular than Miles had ever been by the end of the season. It wasn’t anywhere near the kind of publicity that came with being a movie star, thank god, but at least he could easily afford to move out of his crappy apartment now if he so chose, although he wouldn’t of course.

Actually, in general he hated the whole gosh darn thing. Almost all of it. It was just such a hugely ridiculous hullabaloo and he had to wonder at whether or not all of it had been Eddie’s plan from the beginning. He owned and funded the whole production, of course he wanted it to go well, but could he really have predicted this? 

He loved his work more than he could put into words. He was incredibly honored by the response from the public, and he appreciated every ounce of support from cast and crew and fans alike, but he wasn’t used to so much attention. He accepted it humbly and tried as much as possible to downplay the whole thing. He never did any of this to become famous or make tons of money. He’d done it because…it was something he had to do for himself, and for Eddie. The rest of it was extra and secretly he hoped the ruckus would die down soon…like, immediately would be preferable. 

It was a huge risk. A man playing a role traditionally assigned to a female was highly controversial in the media, but in the end that was a major key to its success. All the extra publicity leant to its popularity and his supporters championed him as role model for anyone either questioning their gender or just looking to express themselves with clothing outside the gender norms. Waylon was happy that he could stand up for a cause like that…even if none of it had ever been his intention in the first place. He couldn’t imagine what anyone would say if they knew why he really did it. He imagined himself in some kind of super cliche t.v. interview situation, laughing to himself all the while. _“So Mr. Park how did you stumble upon this role?” “Oh, well you know, my boyfriend is a ghost and he’s rich and writes the scripts so he casted me as the lead and everyone just kinda went along with it since he kills and guts people for fun and I mean no one wants to fuck with that, am I right?”_

He felt pretty much like he’d just been swept along the whole way actually. He didn’t feel different, he was still the same person that he always was: a guy that was kinda shy, kinda nerdy, a bit clumsy and who had a good sense of humor, a down to earth outlook, and who didn’t clean his apartment or shower as often as he should have. Hell, he wasn’t even in perfect shape or anything like that, he had a little chub going on and he always seemed to need a haircut, he loved video games and junk food more than he cared to admit, and now he was supposed to stand in as some kind of starlet like Miles did and…it was all a little ridiculous.

Especially when he had a serial killer boyfriend…that kind of put a damper on the whole situation, or at least it made things more difficult. He had a feeling that for some odd reason Eddie didn’t even mind the attention, or maybe he even enjoyed it. By this point the rumors about the owner of the theater had spread like a plague and that didn’t even stop him from attending the shows.

…but if anything went wrong…if Eddie couldn’t keep his murderous urges under control then who knew what could happen? It would be catastrophic. For this reason he found himself more on edge than ever. What could Eddie possibly be thinking?

Still, there was no…direct sign that anything bad was potentially going to happen. It had been months and no accidents had occurred, no murders, no mysterious injuries. No, in fact everything had been going particularly well now that the Phantom was getting exactly what he wanted. It was almost as if he’d been a collective figment of their imaginations. However, there was still the matter of the one thing he wanted more than anything, and that was quite obviously Waylon. What did he have planned for him? So long as Eddie was the Phantom, and a murder suspect, he could never live a normal life; neither of them could, and that made it nearly impossible for them to simply be together. He didn’t have any idea where Eddie intended to go from here. 

Not to mention that no doubt Eddie hadn’t forgotten about his intent to leave him. Miles had been breathing down his neck about it for weeks now. Waylon wasn’t an idiot. Never for a single second did he entertain the idea that he would simply be forgiven for his transgression or that Miles would forget his promise. He hadn’t said anything to either of them either way about it and it was time for him to make a choice. Whatever decision he made it would be absolutely final and it was likely the most important decision of his life, but in truth he’d already decided months ago. The rest was time he’d given himself just to be sure. Now he just had to find a way to break the news to Miles. God, poor Miles. He really couldn’t have felt like more of an asshole, but how the fuck was he suppose to bring up something like that?

“Waylon? Hellooo, did you fuckin’ escape out the bathroom window or something?” Miles sang from just outside the bathroom door. Waylon let out a deep breath as he glanced at the door behind him in the mirror. He really didn’t even feel like he could handle going to a party right now, but it was the finale cast party, how could he not go? No, he had to go, he couldn’t just back out now because he’d picked a bad time to have a mental meltdown.

He opened the door and looked Miles over in his masquerade getup. Jesus christ, he was handsome. He’d be willing to bet that no one would be the target of more jealous stares than he himself would be this evening with Miles at his side. Decked out like a peacock in stunning shades of green, purple, and blue, his outfit was a shining work of art with an elegant silver mask to finish it off. His eyes paused as they fell on the bare portion of Miles’ chest and collarbone peeking out from the open collar of his shirt, his eyebrow quickly popping up in playful skepticism.

“Miles…are you wearing body glitter?” he murmured as he desperately suppressed a violent uproar of laughter. Miles scoffed at him.

“Duh, I’m a peacock, Waylon, _of course_ I’m wearing body glitter,” he huffed with a haughty roll of his eyes. “And what are you supposed to be some kind of evil chicken?” Waylon actually looked offended and his mouth fell open incredulously, which immediately had Miles cackling. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, you look even better than me,” he offered with a charming smirk.

“Damn right you’re kidding, this took me days to put together…” He pouted as he looked himself over. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be cute and ethereal or scary and ominous so, tapping into the resources from his recently increased paycheck, he designed his own costume by combining the elements of several. It wasn’t anything too complicated, but he was split precisely down the middle, the left half an angel and the other half a demon, or fallen angel, or something like that. The angelic side was, for the most part, a gussied up white suit without the jacket, while the other half was primarily black, red, and various shades of grey, and looked as if it had been assembled from many various scraps of material. He was pretty proud of it actually, although admittedly he’d got a little bit of help from the theater’s costume department, the one that didn’t include Eddie. This was a bit of a publicity event and they had to make sure he looked good, but Waylon had insisted on doing as much of the work himself as possible. 

However, Eddie had helped him out a bit as well to his surprise. Until a week ago he hadn’t been able to figure out what to do for the wings; he didn’t think he had the kind of crafting skills needed to put two different set of costume wings together and not make it look like an elementary schooler had gone at it with a pair of safety scissors. Then, to his relief, he’d gone to his dressing room the following night to discover a beautiful pair of wings to add to his costume, one black and one white, with a little note attached that said, _“Although you will have to decide, for now this is my gift to you, darling. Enjoy it while you can.”_ His uneasiness had been momentarily lost in his excitement when he’d found an intricate white and black porcelain mask to match.

Now he looked back up at Miles hesitantly for reassurance. “It’s not stupid, is it?”

“No, oh my god, you’re so sensitive. You look great! Now come on, let’s get over to the fancy schmancy ballroom in this joint before all the good snacks are gone,” Miles said with a grin as he hooked him by the arm and dragged him along out of the apartment. He paused to pull him closer and then kissed him on the top of his head, making Waylon blush. “Really though, you’re cute. What are you so nervous about?”

He let out an anxious puff of air and hung his head. “I don’t know, I’m just not… good at parties I guess.” Miles laughed. 

“It’ll be fun, don’t worry, yeah, everyone’s talking about you, but it’s for the right reasons now.”

Waylon thought about this as they walked through the buildings to the room where all events were held for the theater. It would be catered, lavishly decorated, and thrumming with people, all either members of the cast and crew or people that they had invited, but that honestly made him feel worse rather than better. He had a reputation here now and although he didn’t think most of them held any real ill-will towards him it still made him uncomfortable that all of them had, at some point, been speculating very intimate details of his life. 

As if reading his mind, Miles piped up playfully, “You know everyone thinks we’re dating, right?”

“I, no, wait, what?” he asked, flabbergasted. He hadn’t heard anything like that, but Miles was much more imbedded in the theater’s social scene than he was, so it didn’t surprise him too much. So they’d given up on the idea of him and the Phantom then?

“Yep,” Miles stated almost proudly, “A couple stragglers are still hooked on the idea of you and the phantom and whatever bullshit, but now the majority are of the opinion that you and me are an item.”

Waylon looked at him wide eyed. “Seriously?” He paused. “That doesn’t surprise me that much actually seeing as how we act like an old married couple.” I mean, they were even walking arm-in-arm right at that moment. 

Miles chuckled and smiled happily. “Yeah, that’s true.” They had almost arrived at the venue when Miles looked back at him intently and said, “When are you going to break the news?”

“…the news?” he asked innocently, hoping that he didn’t mean…

“About you leaving. Your contract is coming to term, your lease hasn’t got much longer left on it like you said…I mean, it wouldn’t be cool to just up and shove off.”

“I…yeah…I don’t know…” he mumbled as he shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze as Miles released his arm and turned to face him. 

He stared at him for a few beats and then said softly, “…you’re still leaving with me, right? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out now.” His tone was playful, but the suddenly distressed expression on Miles face was not. 

Waylon glanced around nervously. This was the absolute worst time to be getting into this, why did it have to come up now of all times just as they were about to be surrounded by a hundred people? “Let’s talk about it later, okay?” he said as he gestured with his head to a group of girls standing around the entrance not far from them. Miles glanced over at them and took his meaning. 

“Oh…yeah, sure,” he agreed, brushing it off like he wasn’t totally freaked out by Waylon’s abrupt dismissal of the subject, even if he was right that it wouldn’t be good to give everyone something else to gossip about. If everything was fine he would have just said so. He tried not to think about it, but it didn’t prove an easy task, even as Waylon leaned on his shoulder with a cheerful smile and said gently, “We’re gonna have a good time tonight, don’t worry.”

They made their way into the massive room and straight into the crowd of partygoers as they collected greetings on all sides. Now that Waylon was taking more notice of it, there certainly were a lot of people giving them knowing looks whenever they got within a foot of each other. He was pretty sure he witnessed a couple of girls have simultaneous heart attacks when they caught sight of Miles taking the back of Waylon’s hand and kissing it. 

“May I have this dance?” Miles said as he held his hand and leaned over with a cheeky grin on his face. Waylon blushed violently and immediately wished that his mask covered about fifty percent more of his face. 

“You stupid idiot,” he responded, which meant yes. 

They took the dance floor together and immediately Miles took the leading dance position traditionally reserved for the man. Waylon gave him a flat, sarcastic look. 

“Well, I guess that settles that.” 

Miles laughed loudly as he put his hand on his waist and pulled him closer. “Come ‘ere, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy, Way.”

Waylon glanced down shyly. He knew how to dance, but he didn’t think himself particularly good at it. Then again, it was a masquerade ball full of theater folk that all had their eye on him, so it was practically mandatory that they did at least a little bit of legitimate dancing. He was fortunate to be with Miles who always proved that he could easily get Waylon to loosen up. Before he knew it they were five songs in and he had forgotten completely about the snack bar, or anything that had been troubling him. Due to Miles’ company the party actually felt like what Waylon imagined a party was supposed to feel like. 

Unfortunately, Miles wasn’t able to forget the Phantom amongst the evening’s festivities quite as easily. Throughout the evening in fact, he became progressively more and more angry. The happier Waylon was the more he realized that he wanted to keep him that way, _with him_ , forever. The more they danced, the more he laughed and smiled and relaxed, the more infuriated Miles became that he couldn’t have him this way always because some selfish piece of shit was tormenting him. He couldn’t let it happen anymore. He _wouldn’t_ let Waylon do this to himself anymore. It was abusive, it was dangerous, it was wrong and it had to stop. No matter what the cost. He was good at hiding his feelings usually, better than even Waylon could have imagined, but it got to the point in which even Waylon was noticing something wrong. 

He was just about to excuse himself from the dance floor, but was shocked into silence by…silence…total silence as the music disappeared and everyone’s voices died down completely within a matter of seconds. As if instinctively Miles’ head turned towards the staircase that lead to the second floor balcony and on the landing he saw him there, unmistakably the Phantom, painted from head to toe in blood red cloth. He turned to Waylon and saw him standing there hypnotized by the sight of the bright gash the phantom struck across the staircase.

It was simultaneously the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing Waylon had ever seen, Eddie standing there like a vengeful god among all the people that most needed to be protected from him. He wore a mask now, but not the one he used to wear; it was off-white as if aged, the expression contorted as if in fury, and although it was whole in actuality, it gave the impression of being cracked. It alone made a statement, one that made it very clear whether or not he was here on friendly terms. Waylon felt as if he ought to react in some way, he had to do something, but he was transfixed by the sight of Eddie walking very slowly down the steps into the frozen crowd. He could feel the rage radiating off of him in potent waves that left everyone overwhelmed and speechless, all their mockery, all their empty threats dying on their tongues and leaving a bitter taste in their suddenly dry mouths. 

“Why so silent, ladies and gentlemen? Don’t tell me you all thought that I had left you for good…have you missed me?” 

He stepped down towards the center of the room, letting his long red and gold cape flow across the steps behind him. Even standing where he was Waylon could see the arrogant, vicious smirk on his face as he waited, pausing as if he expected an answer from the cowering crowd. They could hardly breathe, let alone speak, as he was well aware. He let the silence drag on painfully before finally continuing in a strong, but mock-courteous tone.

“I have been so hard at work on my next script for these passed several months that I thought it only appropriate to deliver it right to your doorstep myself...” He abruptly produced a thick packet of paper and as he reached the final step he chucked it violently to the floor before them, causing those in his nearest vicinity to jump. He spoke slowly; he was in no hurry at all. “I would be humbled if you would allow me to take this time to provide a bit of… _instruction_ in preparation for your first rehearsal.” The first victim his gaze fell upon was Miles and as he addressed him his voice remained ever so sweet. “After Miles Upshur's unfortunate...accident...he has spent much time recuperating, as he should. However, this generous vacation of his has dulled his ability to perform. He should focus less on the stage, and more on realizing that he is not wanted.” He ends this statement by raking a smug, possessive look over Waylon's entire body. Waylon feels his eyes on him as if it were his physical touch, causing him to gasp softly, but he simultaneously reaches out a shaking hand and grips tightly at Miles' wrist to keep him in place as he lunges forward with a snarl. Still, Miles doesn't dare approach him. Eddie doesn't spare Miles himself a glance and instead steps lightly to the other side of the room, causing the partygoers nearest him to scurry backwards as if repelled by a magnet. Next, Eddie drew a long, thin blade from his hip and pointed it across the room at Lisa. Waylon eyed the sharpened silver with wide eyes as he noted that it was indeed not a costume blade, but quite real. “I had designed a gown befitting only the beauty of our own sweet Lisa, but it would seem that she needs to lose some weight if she does not want to lose her roll as the token squawking whore." Waylon could tell she was gritting her teeth in rage, but he could also tell that she was scared and, consequently, was standing in front of her date protectively. His eyes flicked back to Eddie and he waited. He knew that he wasn't finished. "And the slow-witted, bumbling idiots that call themselves my managers must learn that their place _,” his voice suddenly grew to a roar as he whipped his sword threateningly across Trager’s throat where he held it, just barely avoiding contact with the skin, as he finished in the gentlest of tones, “…not the arts…” With that, his point made abundantly clear, he sheathed his sword and took a few more steps forward until he came to stand before Waylon, hardly a few yards separating them. He turned to him, but instead of speaking Eddie found himself hesitating, unable to say the things he had planned to say._

Every eye in the room was on them, but as Waylon looked to Eddie he suddenly felt no fear. All these months of pain and inability to see what would become of them had brought him here and he was no longer able to see the monster that he ought to see, the one that everyone else around them saw. He had tried to fight it, pretending that he wasn’t as susceptible to Eddie as he really was, but when it came down to his core he was mad for him. For all his fronts he couldn’t hide what had become of him, not now that he was in Eddie’s presence, not even in front of every single prying gaze in the room that sought to dissect their every interaction. They just didn't matter anymore, he didn't care, let them watch. 

Waylon took a few steps closer to him until they were closer than Eddie ever thought he’d dare. He looked up at him with such devotion in his eyes that it made Eddie falter. He desperately tried to remind himself that he was angry, that this was all because his darling had proven himself to be nothing but just another ungrateful slut, but he found the task nearly impossible. He was in control, he had to remind himself, but…but no, he had never really been in control, had he? No matter how much he’d been hurt, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Waylon who looked up at him now with nothing but love and understanding. 

“Darling…” he breathed softly as he took his hand in his with the gentlest of touches. The relief was indescribable. How long had it been since Eddie had looked at him like that...had called to him like that? He let his other hand rest on top of Eddie's, hardly able to breathe as he leaned in and whispered his name, and all he could think was that he needed him to kiss him, now, he couldn't wait another instant. Eddie stared down at him enraptured as he ran his thumb over the ring he had placed on Waylon's finger all those months ago as a symbol of their love and unbreakable bond and...he...he wasn’t wearing his engagement ring. His fury rushed back to the surface and boiled over. “Whore!” he screamed as he snatched the mask off of Waylon’s face roughly and threw it to the ground where the fine porcelain shattered across the floor. He glared into Waylon’s shocked face and snarled through grinding teeth, “Your chains are still mine, you belong to _me_." Waylon stared into his eyes with fresh terror, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm so sorry...! He thought he couldn't be anymore terrified until he saw Miles charging at Eddie with a carving knife he’d snatched from the buffet table. Everyone shrieked and scattered while Eddie jumped back and dropped through a hole that had suddenly appeared in the floor. Without a second’s hesitation Miles threw himself into the hole after him, leaving Waylon back in the dance hall frantically screaming his name into the darkness. _Miles, don't, don't hurt him!_

Upon his landing, Miles found himself shrouded in near total darkness. Twisting and turning in place he quickly found the only light available, one at the end of a long dark hall. He sprinted down it, knife in hand, more angry and determined than he’d ever been in his life. He would slaughter him for what he’d done to Chris, and to Waylon, and to Jeremy.

“Get back here you bastard!” he shouted, the sound tearing from his throat in a way he hardly recognized, but everything seemed strange and unfamiliar down here in the dark places under the theater. He listened as the labyrinth he now found himself in echoed his words back to him. The dilapidated section of the theater he found himself in now was ruins, covered in grime and debris, and he wondered briefly what it had been before it was abandoned and left to rot. To him it was fitting for Eddie Gluskin. He belonged in a lonely, filthy place like this and he would make sure that he would rot here with the rest of this forgotten trash. As the sound of a whistled tune came to his ears he ran off in that direction, desperately trying to pinpoint its source despite the sound of his own heavy breathing. 

“Coward…fucking _coward_!” he yelled in between labored breaths. Just then he saw a glint out of the corner of his eye. He spun, saw Eddie’s face in a doorway, and immediately darted towards it, but soon found that he was looking into a mirror where he saw his own wild face behind a mask. He grabbed the glittering eyesore and chucked it to the side, although it hardly mattered with how bad the visibility was down here already. He turned around and heard the maddening sound of soft, echoing laughter, caught a glimpse of him again, but no, another mirror, god damn it. He swore under his breath and for the first time he realized that he was in trouble. 

He nearly stabbed Dennis in the face when he grabbed his arm. He gasped in shock at what he’d almost done, but followed Dennis as he pulled him quickly along through the desolate passageways.

“This way, this way! Hurry, jesus, he’s gonna gut us like a fish, let’s get a move on!” Dennis cried as he tugged him along while Miles ran alongside him, staring at him dumbstruck, but too out of breath to ask questions just yet. He glanced behind them and he could have sworn that he saw a flash of red disappear around a corner.

Once they’d arrived at a place that was at least somewhat safe, the auditorium of the theater, they stopped. At first Miles didn’t know where they were, but then Dennis opened a hatch in the floor of the stage and hauled himself out. He offered Miles a hand and then yanked him up. They both collapsed on the hardwood of the stage gasping for breath as Miles dropped the knife with a clatter. 

“What…the fuck,” he swore breathlessly. “What the hell…was that… how did you…?”

“Phantom’s not the only one who knows…secrets,” Dennis panted. Something about his voice sounded a little unlike him, but it was probably just a result of the ordeal they’d just been through. They both caught their breath and then looked at one another, but then just as quickly as he’d come Dennis stood to leave. 

“Hey, wait, where are you going? Dennis, hey, wait, listen,” he said quickly and grabbed his elbow. “Dennis, do you… know things? About the Phantom of the Opera?”

“I don’t know nothin’ boy, now leave me alone. I can’t help yah,” Dennis huffed as he pulled his arm away. He looked scared. Miles followed him backstage. 

“Now just hold on a second, Dennis, hold on, you gotta give me more than that… peoples’ _lives_ are at stake, you must know… _something_ that can help us!”

Dennis halted in the shadows and turned to look at him soberly. Somehow all at once he suddenly looked much beyond his years, his demeanor prouder, more serious as he heaved a sigh. He had a worried, sad expression on his face as he spoke. 

“I don’t know nothin’ that can help us, but…I’ve been at the theater a long time, since I was a kid. When I first came here as a boy I knew about the Phantom because I saw him with my own eyes. He was…smaller, lesser, more timid, just a really shy kinda guy, but he was alright I thought, so I left him alone. I don’t know what happened to him since then, but I spoke to him once all those years ago, just once…he told me that he’d run away from home. That his dad was hurtin’ him something awful and so he did something bad to him and his family that he didn’t want to get in trouble for, so he ran off. Now,” he continued hastily, “now, before you say anything, I could sympathize with a guy like that in that situation! Can yah blame me? C-can yah blame me for not sayin’ nothing to nobody?”

“Alright, alright, Dennis…it’s okay…it’s alright,” he muttered softly, worried that Dennis was going to cry. “I don’t blame you…I don’t, it’s not your fault.” Dennis let out a heavy breath and blinked away tears. 

“All my life I never told nobody that, Miles…not one person…didn’t seem right to…but he’s not that little boy anymore,” he said sadly, imploringly, as if he was still trying to convince Miles that he wasn’t a bad guy, either for telling him about Eddie or for not telling anyone about him before now. 

“He’s certainly not…now he’s…he’s a monster.” He clapped Dennis on the shoulder. He felt inspired. “Thanks for your help…I think I know what to do now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? c: as always constructive criticism is considered and appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!


	13. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No going back now. If you've read this far then you've truly reached the point of no return. It's time for Waylon's final performance. Does he make the right choice?

Confronting Waylon that night was difficult and nearly resulted in a bit of a disaster. The plan had just been to calmly _ask him_ whether or not he would still leave the theater. Maybe it was because he already knew the answer that he’d lost his cool. If he hadn't known it for sure already after having deluded himself into fantasizing otherwise, he no longer had a doubt in his mind after the evening's events. After everything that had happened, after _everything that the Phantom had put them through_ Waylon still looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered. They'd all seen it at the masquerade, just the two of them standing in the middle of the room as they both simultaneously forgot that the rest of the world was watching. It was undeniable. It was embarrassing to even be near them, as if they were watching something much too intimate.

It made him sick. How could Waylon do this? 

Miles found him afterwards sitting on the steps where Eddie had appeared, just fiddling vacantly with a piece of broken porcelain in his fingers. He was alone in the empty hall and his wings had been discarded carelessly on the floor. He heard the doors creak open as they split the silence of the room that had been nothing but sound only an hour ago. As soon as he saw Miles he jumped to his feet and hurried down the stairs to meet him, sick with worry.

“Miles!” he breathed in relief as they met each other in the center of the room. He grabbed him in his arms and pulled him close, breathing heavily, only to quickly pull back a second later to check him for wounds. Jumping blindly into Eddie’s domain was suicide, it was a miracle that he was even alive, but unharmed?

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” he urged as he looked him over carefully before their eyes met. Now that his panic had died down some he could see that Miles was angry. Waylon stared at him hesitantly as they both caught their breath; he could detect a subtle difference between what he thought was Miles’ residual anger towards the Phantom, and what was actually anger directed at him. To his surprise this was the latter. 

“…what is it?” He wanted to be cautious, but he had to know. If Miles was fine, then what had happened to Eddie? “Is Eddie okay?”

Miles exploded. “Oh, is _Eddie_ okay? You want to know if Eddie’s okay? Yeah, he’s fucking great although I imagine he was a little disappointed he didn’t get to gut me and make party streamers out of my organs! Maybe you should go comfort him! Why don't you go suck his dick while you're at it?” He chucked the knife he was carrying across the room and it landed against the tiled floor with a noisy clatter. Waylon was stunned, and a little ticked off himself. He knew his words were purposefully related to Chris’ death and it was a pretty low blow. He imagined Miles had been keeping a lot of his resentment over the situation bottled up.

“Why did you dive in there after him like that? That was really stupid, you could have been killed! What were you even thinking anyway? Were you going to be the one doing the gutting this time?” he said loudly, his words coming out a little harsher than he meant them to. No doubt his intentions had been to kill Eddie, the fact that he hadn’t even come close to his goal didn’t matter to Waylon much.

“Don’t try to pin this on me like _I’m_ the homicidal maniac showing up to a party full of potential victims, this is _Eddie’s_ fault, all of it! Why do you keep defending him like he’s some kind of precious little baby that can’t defend itself?”

“Because that’s what you do when you love someone!” Waylon shot back defensively.

“Ohhh, okay, _I see_ , so what about us? What about me, or Lisa, or Dennis, or Billy, or _Chris_ , what about them, Waylon?” he bit back savagely, not caring how his words would hurt, not even when Waylon’s eyes immediately brimmed with tears. 

“You’re just jealous and pissed off because I’d rather date a psychopath than you!” he screamed as tears fell down his face.

“You were never planning to leave with me were you?” Miles said coldly as the volume of his voice suddenly dropped drastically. “You just wanted to shut me up for a while, didn’t you?”

“No, no, Miles, that’s not what I meant to-”

“No…I get it. I do, Waylon, I finally get it. I’m such an idiot.” He turned to leave, but then abruptly spun back around to look at him, rage and sorrow burning quietly in his eyes. “You’re right. I love you, Waylon Park. I wanted to protect you, but not because I was jealous…because you’re the most important thing to me in this whole goddamn world. And I deserve everything I get for ever thinking you might be able to feel the same way about me.” He stared into his eyes for a moment as if searching for something, then he abruptly turned and stormed back towards the double doors he’d come through. 

Waylon watched him go as regret engulfed him. “Miles…Miles, wait, please.” He didn’t wait. “Please, I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Miles, you’re right, please, don’t go!” he begged hoarsely, his voice quivering with all the helplessness he felt knowing that he wouldn't come back. He'd known this would come and that eventually Miles would leave him, and that was what was best for Miles, but he wasn't ready to let him go.

To even his own surprise Miles stopped. He stopped, and he stood there, hating himself, hating Waylon, wanting nothing more than to walk out, keep walking, and never look back. But…he couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. Wanting to scream, to cry, to throw up, he turned back around with an icy expression on his face only to have Waylon throw himself into his arms and cling to him as if he would physically stop him from leaving if he had to…but he didn’t have to. Instead, Waylon bursted into tears and hugged him tighter as he sobbed into his chest. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault, all of it…all of this is my fault…I’m weak…why am I so weak…? I’m sorry,” he choked desperately. “I love you Miles…I know you’ve done so much for me, I’m sorry that this is how I’m repaying you. I was going to leave with you, I always meant to but I…I can’t…I can’t.” He’d been upset that Miles had tried to hurt or even kill Eddie, that he’d put himself in danger, and that he was throwing Chris’ death in his face, but when he saw things from Miles’ point of view it all seemed reasonable. It was for his sake that he was so angry.

Miles sighed, gently put his arms around him, and rested his head against his, closing his eyes sadly as he got a whiff of Waylon’s shampoo. He wanted to hate Waylon, but he knew he never could, not really. In the end he’d always want to protect him. That’s what friends were for.

“It’s okay…I get it, Way…I’m sorry. It’s alright, don’t cry,” Miles muttered softly. 

Waylon held him tighter. “Don’t comfort me for being a dick to you, what the fuck,” he croaked. 

Miles couldn’t help but smile a little bit at that. 

 

 

 

 

He took Waylon back to his apartment and the walk there seemed to help clear their heads a bit. They sat down and he explained to Waylon what had happened. 

“So it was all thanks to Dennis, really…I didn’t know he had anything to do with the Phantom…”

“Neither did I,” Waylon exclaimed, seeming startled. That was the last thing he had expected, it sort of caught him off guard. Dennis was a fun guy, but when it came to personal matters he was often quiet and kept to himself. He never would have imagined he’d known Eddie longer than he had. “So…so that’s all he said about it?”

“Yup. Who would have thought Dennis could be so mysterious…makes me wonder what Billy Hope’s got going on.”

There was a long silence and then Miles continued, “Look…it’s been a long day… let’s get some rest. I was thinking about visiting Chris’ grave tomorrow. Do you wanna come? I can pick you up in the morning.”

Waylon nodded. Until Chris’ passing he never realized how much safer he’d felt with him around. What kind of trouble could you really get into when you were good friends with a grizzly bear? “Yeah, I’d really like that. I’d been meaning to go, but I…” …just didn’t wanna go alone, he finished in his mind. Miles looked him in the eyes and nodded in understanding.

“Me neither…” He paused. “Waylon, you should come stay over at my place for the night.”

At first he protested, but in the end he conceded; he felt bad about Miles driving all the way back to the theater just to pick him up in the morning, even if it was just a ten or fifteen minute drive. He changed his clothes, grabbed a bag and threw some overnight necessities in it, and they headed for Miles’ home. 

They woke up the next morning bright and early when the sun had barely risen and the grass was cool and dewy. Maybe they’d wanted to come in the morning because Chris had been a morning person, who knows, but it just felt right…more sacred somehow, and they were bound to have more privacy at least. 

Waylon heaved a soft sigh as they waded their way through the damp grass to Chris’s gravesite. It was a beautiful cemetery filled with old mossy stones, and twisting, gnarled trees. By all accounts it was a lovely, peaceful place and it made Waylon feel at ease. They trudged up a gradual slope to the spot they were looking for and instantly as it came into view, backed by the morning sun on the horizon, his stomach twisted into knots. He wanted to stop, he’d changed his mind, but his feet carried him onwards at Miles’ side. 

At last they came to rest at Chris’ headstone, big and beautiful like him, shining under beams of newborn sunlight. He looked over the stone with a weight in his chest and let out a gush of air that he suddenly realized he’d been holding in, then he watched as Miles stepped over and laid down the flowers they’d brought on the dirt mound that still seemed too fresh. 

For ten minutes they stood in silence, saying things in their heads they wish they could have said to Chris himself, Waylon pretending he didn’t see Miles crying. Finally he glanced in his direction and mumbled softly, “Is it-” he cleared his throat, “-is it okay if I…?” Miles nodded and Waylon did too before walking off into the cemetery on his own. He knew Miles wanted time alone with him even if he wouldn’t ask for it this time.

As Waylon plodded along between the graves he thought about how it was so weird that there were people just under his feet, buried in the ground, some forgotten, others carefully tended to. Bizarre…he thought he might like the idea of a Shinto style gravesite better. He didn’t like the idea of whole people going down there in the dirt, alone in the cold earth, no matter how unaware of it they were. The whole thing creeped him out. Cremation, he thought, would be better. 

He’d begun to make his way aimlessly towards a particularly ethereal looking old tree when he saw something that made him halt dead in his tracks; a man was standing there by the tree, just inside the shadows of its thick branches. He stared, wide-eyed, surprised by the dark figure and then…

“…Eddie.”

There was no response, and so he made his way towards him, slowly at first, cautious. When they didn’t turn to leave he quickened his pace to a light jog. “Eddie!” he cried in delight, as the figure pulled back their hood, and it really was him. Just like last time, but now he knew he’d been right. All this time he thought he’d lost his mind completely after the funeral, but he knew for sure that _this_ was real. Eddie had a solemn, but gentle look on his face and he opened his arms to him invitingly. It was time to take him away from all of this.

“Darling…”

With a dreamy smile, Waylon broke into a run, but Miles beat him to it. He sprinted by him, pushing him out of the way and knocking him to the ground before tackling Eddie into the wet grass. He pinned him there for an instant, straddling his shoulders as he punched him in the face, but his advantage was short-lived. Eddie threw him off and got the upper hand within seconds, grabbing Miles by the throat and then punching him once, twice, until Miles slid his legs up underneath him and kneed him in the groin. Eddie grunted loudly in pain like a wounded animal and went still, giving Miles a chance to wiggle his way out from under him. He kneed him in the chest in an attempt to knock him over, but Eddie was too sturdy, even when weak with pain. Waylon saw Eddie’s gloved hand reach out and grab a fistful of Miles’ clothing, dragging him sideways to the ground as he threw an uppercut to his stomach that drew a strangled cry from his lips before it sent him flat on his back where he crumpled like a squashed spider.

Waylon ran at them yelling but they ignored him. Eddie moved over Miles, but then he suddenly jutted his foot out and kicked Eddie in the face, knocking his head to the side and sending him straight to the ground where Miles took the opportunity to tackle him. He threw himself on top of Eddie, both bloodied and bruised, and used all his body weight to pin him there before quickly withdrawing a switch blade from his back pocket. He put the knife to Eddie’s throat, but stopped abruptly when Waylon’s screams morphed into wild, animalistic shrieks of pure mortal terror. 

“Don’t…! Don’t, Miles, don’t, _please_!” he howled as he collapsed to his knees, causing Miles’ resolve to crumble. He stared down into Eddie’s face, battered and bloodied as he glared up at him, his expression twisted with hate…but he couldn’t. Not like this...not in front of Waylon.

“Shit,” he swore loudly and grudgingly pulled the knife back. “…FUCK.” He climbed off of Eddie and stood up, panting heavily, then he quickly moved towards Waylon and grabbed him by the arm. He pulled him to his feet and dragged him off forcefully, supporting at least half his weight. Seeing Eddie that way, it had drained the very life out of him. He would have stayed behind if he'd had the strength, but Waylon also understood that it was most important that Eddie and Miles got as far away from one another as possible. He looked back at Eddie worriedly as he sat up and spat blood on the ground. Their eyes met and he watched as Eddie’s bloody mouth stretched wide in a malevolent smirk, and with the glinting eyes of a predator he sang after them sweetly, “I’m coming for you, darling…!"

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe he was asking for trouble by heading into the back of the theater by himself, still sporting a few magnificent cuts and bruises weeks after the fact, but he had some things he had to sort out and if the Phantom wanted to attack him now while he was down then so be it. He wouldn’t anyway. Miles had figured something out about the sick bastard; he needed an audience. If he was going to kill him it likely wouldn’t be in the back of the theater on a weekend when he was all alone. He would want to make a spectacle out of it, one that was more grandiose than even Chris’ death. Something intended to send a message to his challengers, all that were and all that would be, and force them to send up a white flag before they'd even begun to fight. That was what was in store for him and somehow he knew it and so he headed back to Jeremy’s office now without an ounce of fear in his heart, only mournful defiance. 

The door opened into the abandoned space with a creak and then a soft click as he stepped inside and closed it behind him. He looked around the office as memories of Jeremy flooded back to him. Taking a few steps into the space, his eyes fell on the desk where Jeremy had fucked him on a number of occasions. He always figured he must have gotten some kind of sick kick out of doing it right here, calling him in like a bad kid being summoned to the principal’s office and ordering him to strip…of course, he’d put up a little bit more of a fight than that and by the end of it he always had Jeremy begging, but it probably gave him some sense of power to have sex here in his office with one of the employees, while he was supposed to be working no less. 

“Twisted douchebag,” he muttered affectionately, “Not so tough now, are you though…?” He swallowed thickly and sighed through his nose. No matter how long Jeremy was gone the pain never seemed to heal, because it wasn’t finished. He wasn’t done with him yet, there was still so much they had to do. They were supposed to work things out, find a way to be happy together instead of always jumping down each others’ throats, see the world and fuck in every country they went to. They were supposed to have _time_ and…and then they didn’t. Now he couldn’t fix things and he never would. He had tried to apologize or talk to him here as if he could hear him, like it was some kind of shrine to the jackass or something, but it just felt empty, hollow, like he wasn’t there. Like he wasn’t listening. Then again, even in life Jeremy had never been a very good listener. 

Miles took a few more steps forward and went to sit on the couch, but stopped abruptly, staring at the dusty cushion. There in the seat was one huge butt print in the dust, an outline from when Chris had carried him in here and sat down right here on this couch. His eyes then searched for his own mark in the seat beside it, but there wasn’t one. He was momentarily confused until he realized that…that Chris had been carrying him, had held him when they sat because he didn’t want to let him go. 

Without thinking he let himself sink down weakly into Chris’s spot as tears sprang to eyes and began to fall down his cheeks in thick streams. He covered his face with one hand and tried to choke down his sobs ineffectively. If Chris were here now…if Jeremy were-….if he weren't _alone_ …

Chris would have made him feel safe. His presence was like a giant security blanket he could wrap around himself whenever he felt the need to. He always had time for him, even when he was busy he would stop for Miles and sit with him for a while, even if all he wanted to do was talk, to hang out and shoot the breeze. It didn’t have to be important because Miles already _was_ important. 

He sniffled, lowered his hand, and looked around the dimly lit room with a smile that looked like a grimace. “I thought you were important too, big guy…”

 

 

 

 

“No…” Waylon whimpered as he put his arms over his head and sank down against the table. “No, please…I can’t.” He was so tired, he was just so tired of fighting, analyzing, watching everything change over and over again, never knowing where was a solid place to stand. It was coming down to this, his final answer. He knew it had to be done. This meeting and its resulting discussion had to occur and it had to occur now. He wasn’t ready, but he had to be. 

Miles sat down at the table across from him and leaned forward earnestly, trying to draw Waylon’s attention back to his words. He almost seemed like he was going to pass out, but he was sure he just wished that he could. “This is the last time, Way, the last conversation we ever have to have about this, I promise. Listen, listen, come on, you can do this,” he urged as he reached over, took his hands in his, and held them softly. “Look at me, Waylon, come on, stay focused. Just this one thing and then it’s over, okay?” Waylon looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and then after a pause, slowly nodded. Miles smiled encouragingly. “Good, good, very good. They should be here any…ah.” The doorbell rang and he hopped up to get it, practically running to the door. He knew Waylon was running on empty and they needed to hurry and figure this out before he lost his nerve. 

Lisa, Billy, and Dennis all stood at the door looking serious. He’d called them here because he knew he could trust them, because they all cared about Waylon too.

He invited them in then hurried over and took his place back at the kitchen table, all business. Secretly, he’d been thinking about this for months, but only recently had he realized the plan’s necessity. Catching the Phantom wouldn’t be easy, but if they could get Waylon to cooperate it would be their best shot. 

“Alright,” Miles said, ringing his hands as the others sat down around them. Lisa placed herself at Waylon’s side and rubbed his shoulder, looking worried. Miles was the one still recovering from the fight, but she knew Waylon was suffering a hell of his own as quietly as he could manage, and this, what they came here today to do, wasn’t going to be easy on him. 

“So I have a plan I’ve been thinking about a lot…to catch the Phantom at last and put all this chaos to rest. No more murders, no more fear. Just like the way things used to be.” He glanced at Waylon and watched as his head fell to rest on the table, and knew that his words were not entirely true, but he continued on nonetheless. “We have to use Waylon as…bait. The only time he’s ever seen is at the shows to see _him_ …it’s risky, but…Waylon is his only weakness, frankly.”

Waylon sat himself up again and stared vacantly at the table. He knew it would come to this, knew all of Miles’ words before he spoke them, and yet they felt like sandpaper on an already raw wound. He clutched his hands together into fists and rested them against his mouth as he gathered all his strength just to listen and think about what Miles was saying. 

“So you want to catch the Phantom at the upcoming show? You mean like, ambush him in the middle of it, have a bunch of cops waiting for him?” Lisa interjected. Miles nodded, and she sat back further in her chair looking thoughtful. “Hm…”

“I mean, I think it would work…” Billy offered quietly, “He’s attended every single one of Waylon’s shows. It’s the only time anyone’s ever seen him.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but…but this could go very wrong very quickly,” Dennis argued, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I think it’s arrogant, honestly. How in the hell are you suppose to out trick a trickster? He’ll see it coming from a mile away!”

“But see, it doesn’t _matter_ ,” Miles explained hurriedly, “It doesn’t matter, see, because he’ll still come. Even if he sees through it he’ll come anyway.”

God, Waylon thought, Miles was so right, but he was _so wrong_ , he had no idea what would happen if they went through with this. Somehow Dennis must have sensed it was a bad idea, but he wasn’t the only one. 

“That’s true…” Lisa muttered worriedly as she thought it over. Something about it just didn’t feel right, but…it was probably just because it targeted Waylon as the center of it all. If anything went wrong or if the Phantom had other plans… “What if the Phantom tries to capture Waylon or something? Do you really think we could stop him?”

“I think we could, but it’s…it’s a risk. I _know_ it’s a risk, but we’ll have the upper hand. Even if he sees it coming and we don’t have the element of surprise we still have the manpower. He’ll be overwhelmed, it’s not like he can just grab Waylon, run, and expect to get away. He’s clever, and he has his traps and tricks, but he’s just _one man_.” 

Waylon just sat there vacantly as tears slipped down his face. Lisa ran her hand up and down his back soothingly as she spoke. “Did Waylon even agree to this?” She glanced at Waylon and then back to Miles, who nodded. 

“Yeah. He said he’ll help us catch him. We talked about it. A lot.”

“Oh, Waylon…” Lisa sighed solicitously as she put her arm around him. “It’s alright…I’m so proud of you, you’re doing the right thing.” Was he?

“So it’s decided then,” Miles said firmly.

“It’s okay, Waylon,” Billy murmured as they all looked at him and took in his distraught expression. “It’s okay…”

 

 

 

“I know, darling, I know, I really hate to cut our fun short,” he soothed as he grabbed the chorus girl by her long black ponytail and yanked her back. She would have screamed if he hadn’t already sliced her vocal cords. Instead she simply gurgled, blood spewing in spurts from the open split in her neck. “All of us must meet our fate eventually, even I, darling, so please, do hold still and take it with a bit more grace.”

Her arms flailed wildly as she struggled against him, but he was much bigger and much stronger than Marissa, and so her efforts were entirely in vain.

“Ah,” Eddie sighed contentedly as he wound the rope around her neck. “You’re quite the little minx…you remind me of my darling. So feisty. I must admit I like a fighter,” he confided as he pinned her squirming body into the cement floor and tied the knot. “But I’m afraid someone with a bit more…talent is needed for this production, so you’ll have to be cut. I know, it doesn’t seem fair, but every dog has its today. Today, simply, is not yours, I’m afraid.”

He stood back and looked down at the girl as her face contorted in agony and her hands twisted, tense and gnarled at the rope squeezing her bloody throat. He took the thick rope in his hands and yanked hard, drawing her smoothly into the air on a pulley-system. 

“My time at the theater has been filled with a great number of triumphs and failures, but the joke’s wearing thin. I’ve lost my taste for it, and so the time for games is over.” He hoisted her high into the air, tied down the rope, and watched as her legs gradually stopped kicking. He smirked softly with satisfaction and headed back to the theater. “Let my opera begin…”

 

 

 

 

Mount Massive’s final premiering show was a morbid opera detailing the tragic tale and vengeful triumph of a young man who lost everything he loved whiled away at war. Upon his return to the life he knew, he finds his wife (i.e. husband Waylon) has left him and fled into the arms of another man. Heart broken and riddled with the psychological trauma of his experiences, he brutally murders his wife’s lover and then masquerades as him on the night of their planned romantic evening. However, unbeknownst to the young man, his rival in love survives his savage attack, and has come to warn his love of the danger he is in. 

Lisa gasped and threw herself back from the sight of Miles’ battered body in shock, but once she realized what she was seeing, she sank to her brother’s side, frantic with worry. Miles crawled closer to her on his kneels, leaving a trail of blood behind as he clutched desperately at her shirt and explained the danger Waylon was in, that he had no idea it wasn’t him he would be meeting tonight, but his manic ex-lover. 

“There’s no time, go! Go!” Lisa stood, terrified, and quickly exited stage left, leaving Miles to collapse in a bloody heap. 

The lights went down, throwing the theater into total darkness while the stagehands quickly cleared the stage and then expertly refilled it with set pieces for the next scene in only a handful of seconds. An intense but soft classical piece set the tone and Waylon held his breath as he watched everything shift into place, just like rehearsal, only this time he wasn’t acting. He would go through the sequence, but he knew how Eddie’s mind worked and when he got into position onstage and saw Eddie standing there in costume instead of an actor, he wasn’t surprised a bit. He took a deep breath, took a step toward him, and sang the lines that had been written for him for this exact moment. 

_“No thoughts within our heads but thoughts of joy…no dreams within our hearts but dreams of love…”_

His first line finished, Waylon watched mesmerized, as he knew he would be, as Eddie delivered his line in song, his deep baritone brushing seductively over the auditorium.

“You have come here…in pursuit of your deepest urge…in pursuit of that wish, which ’til now has been silent…” He put one finger to his lips. “Silent…” Waylon felt his insides quiver and he swallowed, hardly aware that the rest of the audience was looking on. This was it. There was no looking back. Had he made the right decision? Regardless, this was the time for him to finally bare it all for everyone to see. No more selectively revealing the truth, no more hiding in the dusty warehouse begging for scraps of Eddie’s attention. He continued to listen with rapt attention. “I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge…in your mind you’ve already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me, no second thoughts. You’ve decided…decided…”

Eddie stepped towards him confidently, unafraid of their plan, with only one real goal in his mind. By the end of this evening he would either have Waylon in his entirety, having come to him of his own volition, or he would have the broken pieces that were left of him. His voice carried richly across the space, filling Waylon up like a physical presence, sweet and dark like the man himself. He closed his eyes and felt himself slipping into that place that put him at Eddie’s mercy, steadily forgetting everything else and why it mattered. It was time that he stopped pretending he didn’t feel this way. If he didn’t break free now then he never would and so no matter what the consequences were he had to let it all go.

“Past the point of no return…no backward glances, our games of make-believe are at an end…” 

Eddie approached him steadily, elegantly, like a predator. Miles and the rest watched from the sidelines with a feeling of unease. Waylon wasn’t acting, he wasn’t doing any of the things he was supposed to do. He’d suddenly become Eddie’s plaything on stage as he stood there motionless while Eddie circled him. Something as wrong.

“Past all thought of ‘if’ or ‘when’. No use resisting, abandon thought and let the dream descend…” 

Eddie positioned himself behind Waylon abruptly and pressed his body against him as he grasped him by the throat. Waylon closed his eyes and leaned back against him with as small gasp as Eddie's voice crescendoed passionately into a snarl. “What raging _fire_ shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door…what sweet seduction lies before us…?” He hissed the final words against Waylon’s ear, making his eyes fly open as Eddie slowly stood back from him and turned to face him. Waylon was speechless. Eddie wasn't playing fair. He stared into Eddie’s eyes behind the black mask he wore and could see bright blue there twinkling mischievously back at him as he took his hand and brought the back of it to his lips for a tender kiss, sending goosebumps dancing like electricity along his arm.

“Past the point of no return. The final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn…beyond the point of no return?”

At last Eddie released his hand and Waylon stepped back from him, flustered and breathless. He glanced offstage in Miles’ direction and saw that he was gazing back at him in shock, silently pleading for answers. Had he finally figured out what was really going on? He must have been able to see the wild look in Waylon’s eyes, the reckless, primal instinct that was taking over him with every passing second. 

Miles couldn’t have possibly known until now that he’d never had any intention of letting Eddie be caught. It couldn't work without his cooperation and he wouldn’t deny Eddie his freedom, he’d known that from the instant Miles had posed the question, but this was the only way to stop it. Make his stand and let it be known once and for all, they would disappear into the night and never be heard from again. 

He wouldn’t put any of them, or himself, through this anymore. This was his goodbye. 

The atmosphere was unbearably thick with tension and every eye was on Waylon as they waited for him to sing. Rather than feeling choked into silence by the pressure, he felt unstoppable. As he began to sing he found that his voice had never rung more strong and true.

“You have brought me to the moment where words run dry…to that moment where speech disappears into silence…silence.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Miles’ stunned silhouette. He was catching on. There were police in the audience, police backstage, at all the exits, and he knew that they were getting ready, but they were holding off, likely on Miles’ cue.

“I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I’ve already imagined our bodies entwining defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you…no second thoughts…I’ve decided…decided…”

He turned back towards Eddie and then slowly began to approach him. He could _see_ the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear and the doubt that Waylon might not have decided correctly…but it was only the type of fear that children had about monsters being under their beds at night, though they did not fear them during the day. The closer Waylon got the more clearly he could see it, that he had chosen him and that he had nothing to fear. The realization nearly knocked the wind from his lunges as bliss filled him to his core, euphoria overcoming him like he had never known. 

“Past the point of no return. No going back now, our passion-play has now at last begun.” They circled each other slowly, taking their time with their final and greatest performance, hardly more than a set of loaded springs. Waylon felt as if he was usually the one under Eddie's spell, but now he was under his. He was lost in the sight of Waylon finally accepting who he was and what he wanted, and captivated by his voice, hanging on his every word. He was so beautiful and strong, a force of nature. If he wanted to let him be caught it would have been easy, but that wasn’t even a possibility any longer. “Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question; how long should we two wait before we’re one?" Waylon closed his eyes, clutching at his own body in such a provocative way that he never would have dreamed of doing it in front of Eddie, let alone in front of a whole audience of people. When he opened his eyes again they were boring into Eddie with such heat that he nearly moaned out loud. "When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping blood burst into bloom, when will the flames at last _consume_ us?” 

They began to close the distance, destroying all the barriers that remained between them. Waylon didn’t feel like the prey; he felt like they were equals, like he was just as intent on reaching Eddie as Eddie had been all this time, reaching out to him and always waiting for Waylon to take his hand. They were but a foot apart and then all at once they collided. Waylon gripped his shoulders as Eddie grabbed his hips and they held each other in tight, greedy fists, consumed ecstatic release. Everyone looked on, spellbound, and Waylon wanted them all to see, he no longer held any shame or regret about his decision. Eddie was his choice. Their next line, was sung together. 

“Past the point of no return, the final threshold. The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn.” 

Eddie took him by the wrist, turned him around, and positioned him so that his chest was flush against Waylon’s back. He grabbed at Eddie’s hands passionately as one slid up his torso and the other dangerously low, both savoring every inch of contact. Waylon leaned his head back and closed his eyes blissfully.

“We’ve passed the point of no return.”

Their duet was finished. It was over. Officers stood on either side of the stage, waiting to make their move. Miles ground his teeth, hardly able to contain himself as he watched while Eddie breathed against Waylon’s neck and shamelessly place soft kisses along the pale expanse of skin. Waylon sighed contentedly, unwilling to open his eyes and face what came next. 

And then Eddie spoke, softly, abandoning the script, all pretenses dropped. 

“Darling…say you’ll share your life with me…say you’ll love me always…you’re the only one who can save me from my solitude.” They faced each other as Eddie took both of Waylon’s hands in his imploringly and slid a ring onto his finger. All his hate and anger were gone leaving only love and gentleness. Waylon’s eyes filled with tears as he realized suddenly that he was the happiest he’d ever been.

He nodded eagerly and murmured, “I will…I’ll love you always, Eddie…” 

“Say you want me here at your side always, darling,” Eddie whispered eyes brimming with tears. His voice trembled with emotion and adoration. It was difficult for him to believe that someone like Waylon would really choose him. “Anywhere you go, let me go too.” 

Waylon let out one happy sob and nodded then leaned his forehead against Eddie’s as he clutched his hands. This is what all their struggling had been for and it was worth it. “Yes, I do, Eddie…”

If Waylon wanted him with him always that was all he needed in the world. He had been unsure of Waylon’s loyalty until now and although he’d had moments of weakness he never thought he’d really be able to forgive him for deciding to leave him. Part of him still wanted to hold onto his anger, but the other wanted to finally put it all behind them. If this was Waylon’s final choice…then none of it mattered. Everything was the way it was meant to be.

“That’s all I ask, darli-”

If he hadn’t seen Waylon look over his shoulder at the last possible second he wouldn’t have seen Miles coming with the blade until it was too late. Eddie’s hand went to his belt and withdrew a dagger in hardly a fraction of a second. Before Waylon had even been able to register what was going on he found himself staring into Miles’ eyes as Eddie’s blade sunk into his flesh. Waylon’s eyes widened in abject terror as he watched him crumple to the ground in a heap, but before he could get to him Eddie scooped him into his arms and gave a mighty kick to a small lever near the rear of the stage. He through his body against Eddie’s shoulder, struggling for all he was worth, but the next thing he knew they were plummeting through the floor of the stage into darkness. He screamed and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck, Eddie clutching onto him protectively as they fell for what seemed an unreasonably long time. 

His eyes were shut tightly, but when they opened again and he saw that they were making their way through a dark corridor he immediately began struggling and kicking fiercely. 

“What the _fuck_ did you do, you fucking bastard, _what did you do, Eddie?_ No, no, put me down, now, put me down!” he screamed as Eddie plodded onward, but he was determined to keep a tight hold on him regardless of how impassioned his struggles were. After a moment or two of Eddie half carrying and half dragging him down the hall they abruptly entered Eddie’s workshop seemingly out of nowhere and Eddie threw him down onto the ground. 

Eddie wasn't capable of accepting Waylon's love. The only thing that he could believe now was that his darling had tricked him, set a deadly trap for him, and had distracted him with what he wanted to hear while the man he really cared about held a knife to his back. All of it, _all of it_ was a _lie_. How could he not see it sooner? He’d been right all along to think that his loyalties had never truly rested with him. As angry as he’d been for so long, he’d thought that he was finally ready to let go of that and so he hadn’t seen it coming. He was ready to heal and believe in good. For just a second he’d really believed…he’d been so blind with love that he hadn’t…he let out a cry of rage and agony, tearing off his mask and clutching his face. This was his darling’s true answer. 

“You betrayed me like everyone else…darling. Darling, why? _Why?_ ” he begged as he pinned him into the floor, tears streaming down his face. Waylon shook his head and stared up at him in shock.

“No…no, Eddie, I didn’t, I…!” he gasped, terrified and bewildered as Eddie’s broken pleas brought hot tears to his eyes. He could see his heart breaking right in front of him, but he couldn't talk fast enough to stop it. He couldn't even understand what was going on, why Eddie was mad, his head was spinning.

“No…you’re done talking,” Eddie snarled as he reached over Waylon’s head to reach something on a nearby table. His words were full of fury, but his face was crumpled in despair. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is _poison_ …!”

“Eddie! No! No...!” he wailed as Eddie subdued him the best he could with one hand while the other fiddled with a contraption that Waylon couldn’t see. Without warning there was a mask over his mouth and nose, forcing thick, bitter air down his throat and into his lunges, and within seconds, despite his best efforts to stay conscious, he found himself slipping into deep, all-consuming darkness.


	14. Down Once More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown. Eddie grapples with Waylon's betrayal while Miles and Waylon simply try to escape this final showdown with their lives.

At first his consciousness only returned to him in snapshots, mixing delirious visions and reality into one disorienting blur. In this haze of confusion only a few things stood out to him with any clarity and so he could only assume, for the timing being, that they were real. 

From his vantage point on the floor, the first thing he saw was Eddie hauling large metal containers into the workshop, but he couldn’t tell what might be inside them, only that they looked heavy. He watched as Eddie picked up one of the containers and began to splash the liquid inside it onto the delicate fabrics that surrounded them, dousing every garment, every surface until they were soaked. Before he could register any further thoughts on the matter, darkness filled his vision again. 

When it cleared a second time he thought he saw Miles’ face staring down at him, but how could that be? He tried to speak his name, but he was unsure as to whether or not his lips actually moved. He’d never seen Miles look so scared and he wanted to tell him it was going to be okay. Miles was saying something to him in a hushed, earnest voice, but his speech was garbled in Waylon’s ears and he couldn’t understand. Miles abruptly disappeared from sight just before he passed out again, despite his best efforts to stay conscious. He was afraid for Miles, knowing something bad would happened to him if he couldn’t wake up and stop it, but there was nothing he could do. 

The last scene was Eddie lifting him into his arms and whispering to him that everything would be okay. His expression was harried and grim. He didn’t know if Eddie knew he could hear him or not, but it didn’t matter; within seconds he sank back into the blackness.

When at least he awoke it was to the sound of Eddie’s voice close at his ear. His eyes were closed, but he listened, trying to concentrate on his whispered words. 

“…your fault, darling…I should have known you would be too pure to see it. They want to steal you from me…just like they’ve stolen everything else. But I won’t let them take _you_. Not this time, I won’t let them take you, darling…” Everything, all of this had been for Waylon. No matter what he did, no matter how he hurt him, Eddie still needed him by his side. He was torn between wanting to hate him for what he’d done, and wanting to save Waylon from himself and the world that had cast them off. He needed to be protected, the way Eddie had not been when he was a child. He wanted to save him, but at the same time it was impossible to stop up the rage and the hurt that he felt. What resulted was a convoluted feeling that he had to stick to the whole reason he’d done any of this from the very beginning; they had to be together no matter what. No matter what price had to be paid, he would be willing to pay it if it meant he wouldn’t be alone anymore, even if it meant destroying them both. Even if Waylon had never really loved him at all, or if Miles and the rest of those ungrateful sluts had turned Waylon against him, he had to salvage what little he could. It was his only choice now and he couldn’t stop to look back at what could have been or the life they might have had together. They could have been happy, they could have been so beautiful, but it was _his own willful blindness_ that had prevented him from seeing that Waylon had been corrupted to their side. In a way, this was all his own fault, he thought, and so as angry as he was at Waylon, he couldn’t blame him as much as he wanted to. 

Waylon slowly came to with a soft groan and a throbbing headache. He blinked his eyes open slowly in an effort to clear his blurry vision. As his surroundings steadily came into focus he gradually became aware that he was sitting slumped over in an old, victorian armchair. The dark, dust-clogged air told him instantly that they were in the warehouse. His head felt heavy. He glanced downwards and he noticed then that his clothes had been changed for him. He was wearing his wedding dress at last, the painstakingly crafted gown that Waylon felt was a long lost relic of happier times long passed. Next he raised his head and looked around the large room as it spun into focus, and there was Eddie waiting to greet him, but his vulnerable demeanor was gone. The crazed look on his face was so unlike his sweet and charming other half. It was absurd, but he loved them both, all of him, and yet that didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid now as the sight of Eddie told him immediately that he was in a grave amount of trouble. 

“Ah! So good of you to join us,” he said in a mock jovial tone upon seeing that Waylon was awake. 

That was when his eyes slipped passed Eddie and found Miles. Immediately he thought in panic that he was hanging from the ceiling, but he wasn’t; he was standing precariously on a wobbly wooden end table that looked much too old and damaged to hold Miles’ weight for very long. He had a rope around his neck from which he was partially baring his weight, not enough to choke him completely, but enough to make speaking more difficult. Waylon’s awareness of his surroundings came thundering back all at once in complete clarity and he gasped as he jolted back to his senses abruptly.

“Miles!” he cried, breathless with worry. He could see that his shoulder was covered in blood from the wound Eddie had given him, but hopefully he would be alright if he could quickly get him to a doctor. It was impossible to tell from this distance. He looked back to Eddie now who stood in the space between him and Miles, separating them intentionally. 

“Eddie…” he muttered, but was hesitant to speak should he incite him to further violence.

“Waylon, are you alright? Don’t do anything he says…!” Miles choked out from across the room.

Miles’ plea made his words nearly too thick with emotion to respond. He was still looking out for him, even now. The hoarse, breathless sound of Miles’ voice struck a deep fear into his heart and in his mind it solidified the seriousness of the situation.

“I’m alright…!” he yelled back, trying to sound stronger than he felt. 

“Did you really think that I would hurt him? No,” Eddie said to Miles with a dark chuckle as he turned back to him and casually produced a sharp blade. A chill ran through Waylon as he watched Eddie loosely jerk the blade back and forth as he approached Miles’ weak and dangling form. “No no, now why would I make him pay for the sins that are yours?”

“Eddie, don’t! Don’t touch him,” Waylon shouted as he jumped to his feet, hating the way his voice shook and despising how useless and vulnerable his uncomfortable clothing and the lingering affect of the drug made him feel. 

“Let him go,” Miles demanded as he eyed Eddie fearlessly and tried to concentrate on breathing while still maintaining his balance on the broken piece of furniture. His hands were tied tightly behind his back; he was truly helpless, as much so as Waylon felt. 

“Now’s the time to make your choice,” Eddie growled as he pointed his dagger at Miles and turned back to glare at Waylon. “Say you’ll be mine or your lover pays the price!”

“Waylon…don’t,” Miles begged, staring at him meaningfully, eyes filling with tears. “Leave…leave now and don’t look back.”

“I won’t leave you here!” Waylon called back unwaveringly. How could he think he would abandon him here to die? His eyes flitted fearfully back to Eddie as he stormed towards him, knife in hand. Though his body shook with fright he stood his ground and only barely flinched when Eddie grabbed his arm. Their eyes met and any of the warmth that had been there moments ago as they vowed their lives to one another on stage was entirely gone, replaced instead by malice and pain.

“Do you have no humanity left?” Miles pleaded, “I love him…you don’t care about anyone but yourself! Don’t you want him to be happy?”

Eddie turned on him suddenly in a flurry of new rage. “The world showed no such compassion to me! I was loathed and cast off from the moment I was born, I knew nothing but suffering and pain my entire life and you dare ask _me_ for mercy as if it was owed to you? I found no refuge, no solace _anywhere_ , and you had everything…I owe you nothing!” His snarl abruptly dulled into a low whimper and he turned back to Waylon as his chest filled with a deep, yearning ache. The only person he’d learned he could depend on had turned on him like all the others. What was so wrong with him that he didn’t deserve the sympathy or tolerance of even one person? What was _so wrong with him_ that even his darling wanted to hurt him this way?

No, even as Waylon looked at him so broken, so scared, he couldn’t be merciful now. He tad to take what was rightfully his because the world would never give it to him. 

Waylon let out a deep, shuddering breath of sorrowful resignation. He had always intended to choose Eddie…even in the very beginning before he even realized fully what it was he wanted, it had been Eddie all along. The fact that Eddie thought this was necessary just for them to be together…he was so twisted, so _damaged_. Waylon wanted to hold onto his anger and hatred for everything Eddie had put them through. It felt safer to simply hate, but he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming sadness and pity he felt for Eddie, and the love for him that still lingered. Without him Eddie had always been alone. He would never understand the horrors he had been through, but anything that could ring such brazen cruelty and insanity from a man, a man who he still believed to this day was genuinely good at heart, it could be no less than the worse hell imaginable. 

“I’ll go with you, I’ll do whatever you want, Eddie…don’t hurt him, please, you don’t have to,” he begged softly as he reached out and rested his hands on him imploringly.

Eddie’s mask of pain twisted into a wicked, triumphant grin, but there was no pity or remorse there. 

“Pity comes too late. There will be no rest for us so long as he is alive,” Eddie growled as he grabbed the end of Miles’s rope, wrapped it around his fist, and gave it a hard yank causing Miles to sputter and choke. “This is what you have chosen… _this_ is the point of no return.”

Upon the realization that there would be no mercy no matter what he did or said, Waylon dove at Eddie to stop him, but he knocked him to the ground with a careless swipe of his hand. Still severely dizzy from the gas Eddie had pumped him full of and tripping on his skirts, he tried to stand, but stumbled back to the ground.

It was then as he knelt on the ground that he at last came to terms with the position he was in: he was weak, drugged, had no means of defending himself, there was little to no chance anyone would come to their aid, and Miles was going to die before his very eyes and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. His head spun as he dragged himself to his feet, then staggered into Eddie where, broken and defeated, he leaned against him for support. He rested against him weakly, his head hung in mourning. He didn’t beg, he didn’t scream. 

Eddie turned to look down at him and there in his eyes he could see all the fight, all the hope, as it rushed right out of him and was finally replaced by darkness, leaving none of the light and passion in Waylon that he treasured so much. After everything Waylon had been through he’d now reached the point where he was just like Eddie: helpless, and hopeless, and lost.

Eddie paused and went still. He stared at Waylon as he pressed against him, as soft and as powerless as a lamb, taking in his despair, his desperation, his utter sense of loss and anguish. He’d never seen him look so…empty. The sight, it made him…it made him sick, it _hurt_ , it hurt so much that he…no…no, he couldn’t… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do to Waylon what the world had done to him. He wouldn’t, he refused to, no matter what burden he himself would have to bear, even if it meant…

Miles collapsed onto the minuscule table and it splintered into pieces underneath him in an instant. He laid there on the wooden shards, coughing and gasping for air as he clutched at his neck, yanking the loosened rope away from his raw flesh. Waylon picked his head up and stared uncomprehendingly, then looked at Eddie as he pulled away and turned his back on him. Waylon couldn’t even begin to understand what had just happened. Just like that it seemed Eddie had changed his mind…there was no way. He was unpredictable, but he was sure that this time Eddie had nothing left to give him.

“Go,” Eddie muttered under his breath so that Waylon just barely caught the word. Realizing the opportunity he was giving them, he ran to Miles side and quickly lifted him onto his shoulder, encouraging Miles hurriedly to stand on his own the best that he could. They had to take this chance while Eddie still allowed them to have it, he feared that Eddie would just as quickly take it away. His state of mind seemed to change so rapidly that he could hardly keep up. Miles fought to walk with Waylon’s support and they paused while he got his footing. Waylon looked back to Eddie hesitantly. 

“Eddie-”

“GO,” he screamed savagely, and with that the two of them stumbled from the warehouse as fast as their unsteady feet could carry them. They began the long trek down the hall towards the main lobby where, to Waylon’s relief, there were people and police gathered that quickly came to their aid. He handed Miles’ off to two men who had more strength, and then followed them outside to the front of the theater where many more police and emergency personnel were gathered. There was a commotion of relief and excitement among those that were gathered as the two of them appeared, and then Waylon heard a familiar voice crying his name. 

“WAYLON! MILES!” He picked his head up to see Lisa running toward them frantically. She instantly snatched him into her arms as she let out a sob of relief and clutched him to her chest. 

“Waylon, oh Waylon, are you alright? Miles went after you down the hole like the idiot he is, the police went after him but they couldn’t find you, it was like the three of you just vanished!” she exclaimed rapidly and finally let him go to check him over and call over paramedics. He searched the crowd and with a sigh of relief, he watched as Miles was loaded onto a stretcher. He turned his gaze to Lisa gently. 

“I’m alright…Eddie drugged me so I feel…unsteady and a little sick, I don’t know what it was…”

“Here, quick, let’s get you checked out, are you sure you’re alright? Other than that, you’re not-”

There was a sudden shrieking from inside the theater, followed by a thunderous crash that made Waylon’s heart sink straight to the ground. He turned back towards the sound of the screaming and he and Lisa watched as anyone remaining inside the theater came flooding out. As the crowds clashed and Waylon and Lisa rushed over to question what had happened, they gathered that a roaring fire had broken out from under the theater. There was suddenly a sound like an explosion and all of the windows of the main building burst out, shattering and showering anyone nearby in glass. Waylon and Lisa covered their heads and rushed with the others away from the building as the wail of sirens sounded in the distance. Lisa began ushering him through the chaos towards an ambulance, but suddenly he froze as fresh terror struck him so hard that he staggered, thinking for an instant that he might collapse under the weight of his realization. The world around him seemed to go silent and disappear as he realized that Eddie was still in the building that was currently burning to the ground. 

Before Lisa could stop him he grabbed his skirts, turned, and bolted back into the theater. He heard her screaming his name, but he ignored it as he barged into the front lobby and looked around. Somewhere he could hear that people were trapped, they were screaming, some for yelling for help, others just _screaming_ in an awful symphony of agony and fear as they burned alive, but he couldn’t stop. Ignoring the chorus of misery that seemed to come from the main stage, he ran down the hall back towards the warehouse. He could hear the heavy, ominous sound of beams cracking somewhere in the ceiling, threatening the building with collapse, but he paid it no mind. He couldn’t, there wasn’t time. 

With a familiar, metallic scraping sound he shoved the warehouse door open, ignoring the way the hot metal burned his skin, signifying that there was a inferno inside. He threw himself through the doorway, only pausing when he saw that most of the room had been engulfed by flames. There was a deafening roar as the fire devoured everything in its path, but he screamed Eddie’s name, ducking down as he tried to avoid the thick black smoke quickly filling the room. He screamed for him over and over again as he tried to move deeper, squinting through watery eyes into the blazing wreckage.

He saw movement in the flames and thought it was Eddie, but it wasn’t; it was his own reflection in the mirror, the one that had given him entrance to Eddie’s workshop the first time he’d taken him there. He moved towards it as he let out a hacking cough and grabbed the mirror’s frame. He threw it open and made his way down into the dark that, combined with the heat and flames, enforced the feeling of descending into hell. The once pitch black passageway was now lit by flames that licked at either end of the tunnel, and when he at last found himself in what was once Eddie’s workshop he realized almost immediately that it was hopeless. Every scrap of clothing was burning, and Eddie himself was no where to be found. He coughed painfully and fell to his knees as he tried to see enough through his burning, watering eyes to spot Eddie if he was here. He called his name, but got no response. 

If Eddie _was_ still here then he was dead, consumed by the flames, just like the ash and embers that were all that remained of everything he’d worked so hard to build. Waylon curled up on the ground as he fought desperately to access the cooler, fresher air closer to the ground. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he could hardly see. He knew suddenly that he wasn’t going to make it. He squinted into the flames, cringing at the intensity of their heat as they licked hungrily at his skin, and as he lost consciousness his last thought was that he was sorry.

 

 

 

“…that’s the last thing I remember before Miles saved me,” Waylon finished dully as he continued to stare out of the hospital window overlooking the beautiful, sunny afternoon horizon. The police, his therapists, they were always trying to encourage him to remember what had happened as if it would change anything. He ignored any further efforts at communication from the officer until eventually a nurse escorted him out, while he continued to gaze listlessly out of the large window by his bed.

The fact was that it wouldn’t change a single thing. He would still be here, receiving treatments for his severely burned and battered body, as well as for the psychological trauma that wracked his every waking moment, and every one of his dreams. The theater was still gone, and Eddie Gluskin was…he was still dead. He just wanted to forget…he wanted to forget all of it. For the rest of the evening he lost himself in memories…memories of a dark theater and a man in a mask, of happier times when he’d had fantasies of the future that might be, that he now knew…never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was so short, it just worked out that way. This is the final chapter, but there is a sequel already in the works, so it's not at all the end. A little snippet of the first chapter of the sequel, which I promise I'll post any day now:
> 
>  
> 
> _“Waylon…?” Miles coaxed as he put the spoonful of soup to his lips. “Come on, the doctors say you’re not eating…it’s a bread bowl, it’s your favorite…” He watched as Waylon turned his head away just slightly to avoid the spoon. He put the spoon back in the bowl, giving up for now with a tired sigh._
> 
>  
> 
> As always, constructive criticism appreciated. I hope this was, emotionally, both destructive and satisfying. Did you think this is how it would go? Thanks!


End file.
